


Stiles

by skeleteen



Series: skeleteen teen wolf/marvel crossovers [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapped Stiles, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Human Stiles, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Polyamory, Stiles-centric, Super Soldier Serum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleteen/pseuds/skeleteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What did they do to you?” His dad's voice came out breathy, almost like he didn't mean to say it.<br/>“I'm different.” He choked out. “It was a switch between needles and a dog fighting ring. I got stronger. I am stronger.”<br/>“You broke the nurse's hand.”<br/>“I wasn't trying.” He assured him, slumping against the mattress with a defeated look. “I don't want to know I'd do if I tried. I'm dangerous.”<br/>“You're not-”<br/>“I am.” Stiles' bottom lip wobbled. “I am.”</p><p> </p><p>Eight months in HYDRA captivity can really change a person. Experimental, physical change.<br/>Stiles isn't as defenceless as he used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a universe without a Civil War, despite it's beauty as a film. Bucky is not a terrorist, but is MIA at the start of this story.

“We've got a situation here, Sergeant.” Stiles heard the voice from his left speaking, but he couldn't bring himself to turn his head towards the sound.

He learned not to trust his curious instincts in the first few weeks. The urge to turn and _see_ who was talking, to talk back, always ended in bruises. It wasn't like he'd been kidnapped more than once, he didn't really know the exact protocol yet.

This voice, however, was new. Stiles didn't like new. New always meant experiments, less sympathy.  
He could feel all his limbs twitching like an out of body experience - he knew they were, logically, but he didn't have any sort of control over the movement anymore.

When more voices appeared, he scrunched his face and shook it in frustration. He couldn't cry. They'd hurt him if he cried.

“Is he speaking?” A scratchy, baritone voice asked gently.

“Kid hasn't stopped staring at the wall. I don't want to touch him, who knows what kind of shit went on here. It's just a concrete room with one bench.” The same voice that called earlier replied.

“Hi, sweetheart. My friends and I work for the police, we're here to get you home. Do you want to look at me?” A new voice asked.

Stiles froze, all the twitching ceasing. The voice was undoubtedly feminine; there was no way it belonged to a male. The only issue was that his captors made it damn clear they only allowed men in their business. It was some sort of brotherhood.

 _Is it a trick?_ His mind raced, but he couldn't lose the chance.

He turned his face slowly, whiskey eyes zeroing in on two men and a woman wearing thick black, unlabelled vests.

He started hyperventilating immediately, jumping off of the cold, metal bench and rushing towards the first female he'd seen in more months than he could keep track of. He noticed the men's hands instinctively hovering over their gun holsters, one actually pulling it into his grip, but they relaxed when the teenager simply wrapped his purple, green and brown arms around her and let out a pathetic sob when she reciprocated the hug.

“It's okay, kiddo. I got you.” She rubbed his back and he felt her body tense when she ran her hand over the variety of raised scar tissue. It was still the warmest contact he'd had with a person since being taken from his home.

He was only wearing a grey tee shirt and a pair of athletic sweatpants he'd been given as some variation of of uniform. His feet were bloody and cold and his hands shook when someone wrapped him in a tinfoil looking blanket, leading him out of the place he'd been staying. He barely registered the fact that he was outside until the calloused skin under his feet met a gravelly texture, along with flashes from people with cameras waving frantically behind a yellow tape line.

He sat cross-legged in an ambulance, refusing to lay down or accept sleeping drugs willingly from the female paramedic. He just repeated his name and father's job title - the only things he held in the back of his mind.

 _My name is Stiles Stilinski. It's a nickname. My dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills, California. I have to call him._ It became his mantra until someone finally told him they'd contacted him and that he was on his way.

He sighed shakily, leaning into the soft mattress they'd politely forced him into. He was attached to all sorts of wires and tubes, which was a fight to get him to cooperate with, but he quickly accepted it when they compromised by promising to not drug him into an impaired state of mind or force him to lay down.

They probably couldn't drug him if they tried, really. He heard a nurse informing her coworker that the arm of the first girl who tried to put him under was in fact broken in three places. He had no idea how he did it.

Everyone handling him was a woman, so far. He assumed it had something to do with his reaction to the FBI agents. He wasn't scared of men, per se. It was more just the factor that made the whole rescue thing seem real, but it was a safe bet for them to make. It made him respect them more.

He had the settings made so he could sit up and sat perfectly still, still uncomfortable with the idea of being allowed to look at his surroundings freely.

He hadn't really spoken, other than the occasional _no_ when biting or kicking didn't work and telling them to contact his dad. He was still expecting some sort of punishment for talking (or his limbs lashing out at their staff), but they all listened attentively.

His mind told him he was safe, despite his body protesting against everything. He knew if they had found him a few weeks later he would have been borderline feral. He'd been holding onto pieces of himself for the whole time, refusing to let them leave his mind, but he'd forgotten the whole story as time went on. He repeated facts to himself like a bedtime story; every night it got shorter. He didn't have a whole lot left.

_Your name is Stiles Stilinski. Your dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills in California. Your mom's name is Claudia, she died when you were a kid. Scott's your best friend. He's a werewolf. Lots of creatures are real, but werewolves are your specialty. You're human._

He found himself dozing off to all he had left of the pieces of his life. He hoped he remembered them correctly. Stiles was kind of a weird name, but it was sort of the _once upon a time_ of his story. He couldn't forget it.  
  
○○○

When he woke up, it was with a jerk.

He wasn't allowed to sleep and _oh my god I'm going to get punished again_ and _idiotidiotidiotidiotidio-_

“Stiles.”

The voice was familiar. It was a man. He recognized him immediately.

“Dad.” He whispered, hesitantly reaching a hand out and touching his face as if he was some sort of apparition. “Dad, dad, dad.”

The sheriff didn't bother holding back tears (which his son wiped away) as he sat in a pink, plastic chair beside his bed. “Hi, kiddo.”

“How much time?” He asked, pulling his hand back and holding it against his body like he was nursing it.

He swallowed. “I don't think I'm supposed to-”

“I lost count after three and a half months.” He revealed quickly. “I know it was at least double that. Maybe triple, but not quite.”

“You're so smart.” His voice broke and Stiles felt his heart clench with something he hadn't felt in a long time. “Eight months, kiddo. Eight.”

“I don't remember being taken. I'm useless to police for finding whoever got me, but I can write a victim report. I've been drafting it in my head for eight months, apparently.”

He felt like a smile should have accompanied the words but it was more of a pained grimace that came out.

“You can be broken, Stiles.” His dad said firmly. “You don't have to be strong right now, not for me, not anymore.”

“I've always been strong.” He sighed, wincing at a pain in his ribs. “Couldn't give up. Not completely. I'm a little foggy on home but they tried so hard to make me forget you and I couldn't, dad. I couldn't do it.”

He looked almost hurt by the words, accepting the reality of his son's experience like a whip to his back.

“Scott is here. So are Derek and Lydia, I don't know how you feel about them. You've been smitten with both, really.” He chuckled and Stiles felt his heart lighten at the sound. “They didn't give up looking for you.”

“Werewolves.” He said simply, noting that his dad looked surprised he remembered, but not surprised by the word. “I, uh, I don't think it was related. They were human. Regular, evil, humans. I wished they were hunters but they weren't. They didn't understand me when I asked about my friends. I thought they wanted information, but they'd make me stop talking about them.”

“What did they do to you?” His dad's voice came out breathy, almost like he didn't mean to say it.

“I'm different.” He choked out. “It was a switch between needles and a dog fighting ring. I got stronger. I _am_ stronger.”

“You broke the nurse's hand.”

“I wasn't trying.” He assured him, slumping against the mattress with a defeated look. “I don't want to know I'd do if I tried. I'm dangerous.”

“You're not-”

“I am.” Stiles' bottom lip wobbled. “I am.”  
  
○○○  
  
“There was a survivor out of the HYDRA base in Washington.” SHIELD Director Phil Coulson slammed a file folder with a teenage boy's picture paper clipped to the front down on the round table. “He’s from California.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at the photograph. “How does this concern the Avengers?”

“The kid has some variation of super strength. Based on the fact that he was a key member in a werewolf pack when he was taken, he's also a team player.”

“Please tell me we aren't on babysitting duty.” Clint groaned, slamming his head down dramatically against the marble.

“He's technically a trauma survivor, even if he's acting fine, so we'd like to send one of you out there with some SHIELD agents instead of flying him to New York City.”

Steve sighed. “I'll go.”

“Aw.” Clint cooed. “Captain America is going to go save the teenage time bomb.”

“That's a decent superhero name.” Natasha pondered.

“He's _not_ a superhero right now.” Steve glared at his colleagues. “He's a kid that was kidnapped by an organization that loves torturing people and given abilities he doesn't understand.”

Tony frowned. “Sounds like Bu-”

Bruce smacked him on the back of the head before he finished the sentence.

Thor furrowed his eyebrows at the exchange, but shook it off. “I find this act very honourable, Steven. I wish you the best.”

“We'll be sending Daisy and Fitz with you.” Coulson nodded at Steve.

“That means he's a nerd _and_ a sarcastic asshole.” Clint laughed. “Good luck!”  
  
○○○  
  
“Scott.” Stiles straightened his posture at the sight of teenager in the doorway with a familiar uneven jawline and dorky smile.

“Hey, man. You remember me.” He walked in, grabbing the back of a chair and moving it closer to his best friend's bedside. “They said they weren't sure who you'd recognize.”

“Oh, I know you.” He nodded. “I asked them to bring you in earlier, but they wouldn't because you're not technically family and I'm traumatized. They don't trust me to make decisions yet, so they kept you out.”

“You sound calm about it.” Scott commented warily.

“They said I'm depersonalizing the situation so I don't overwhelm my brain, but I just think I haven't been allowed to feel in so long that I've unadjusted myself to social cues.” Stiles watched his friends face fall. “See, like that! I didn't think about how that'd make you feel. I don't have that connection anymore. Lame.”  
Scott chucked despite the circumstances. “I missed you, dude. We looked for so long.”

“I was being held in a different state. The winter was colder.” Stiles said off-handedly. “I stopped blaming the pack for not tracking my scent after the first two days. I realized they had helicopters and planes pretty quickly.”  
“ _They_?” Scott frowned.

“Humans.” Stiles mimicked the expression. “I wish they were supernatural. Hey, I might be, though!”  
At this, Scott became more attentive. “What?”

“Not supernatural, but like, super-unnatural?” He said unsurely. “I was experimented on and now I'm super strong. I think they were training me to be an assassin, but I wouldn't give up my past life, so I just walked out with ridiculous reflexes. I should join lacrosse. Wait, shit, you all graduated, right?”  
Scott winced. “Yeah.”

“Again!” Stiles huffed. “I didn't make the emotional connection there. Sorry about that, now you're sad.”

“It's not your fault.” Scott said calmly. He leaned forward and Stiles involuntarily flinched.

“Sudden movements are unappreciated.” He said breathlessly.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He shrugged, wincing slightly at the feeling. “I don’t think I have super healing.”

“My mom said you should have died from your injuries.” Scott admitted. “So I wouldn’t be too sure.”

Stiles pondered the thought, pursing his lips. “Maybe.”

“The doctor’s called someone. I don’t know who they were, but they mentioned werewolves.” Scott’s jaw clenched. “We called the whole pack to come down from Beacon Hills to patrol the area”  
“What hospital am I in?” He tilted his head.

“UCLA Medical Center.”

“Ooo, _fancy_.” He drawled.

Scott’s façade falls. A tear slipped from his left eye that he wiped with a sad chuckle. “I missed you, idiot.”

Stiles’ face scrunched up at the sight, like he knew he was supposed to be crying, too, but he didn’t have it in him. He barely remembered Scott, other than the reassurance to himself that Scott would come because he was his best friend. He didn’t have room to explain why or tell stories. It was survival.

“I’m overwhelmed.” He admitted, fist clenched around the bar of his hospital bed so tight that he began to feel the metal giving in. He looked away from his friend. “Please leave me alone.”

“Stiles…”

“ _Please_.” His voice broke.

Scott nodded. “I’ll come back later.”

He breathed deeply long after Scott left the room, attempting to control his emotions. The bar of his bed frame was now dented into a recognizable shape of a handprint. Seeing it enraged him.

Stiles wasn’t someone who _hurt_ people, but he has. He killed people during his time captive, when the people keeping him threw him into a ring with another person. He knows he would be granted self defence on every occasion, but it didn’t feel that way, seeing the sub-human look in his opponent’s eyes. They were drugged in some way, the same way he was, only their desire to kill was amplified.

Would Scott look at him the same if he knew what he had done?

Stiles doesn’t want to know the answer. He finds himself staring at the wall like he did when he was in a cell, lost in his own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo Fitz did not train at an international spy agency for science and technology to end up babysitting an superhuman annoyance, but then again, here he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer than expected, but if it's any consolation, the reason for that is because I have approximately 6 one-shots in the works that are taking my attention away. Enjoy!
> 
> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen

“He pranked his last caregiver into quitting.” Skye snorts. “C’mon, this is going to be fun.”

“This isn’t funny.” Steve sighs, exasperated, even though he hid a laugh when Coulson briefed them on the situation. “Andrea worked for the government. She was a sweet lady.”

“She was unequipped to deal with an inhuman, let alone an inhuman with some personality.” Skye deadpans. “Admit it.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Steve counters.

Skye turns to Leo with an expectant grin.

“Oh, no.” He waves his hands in protest. “You are not sending me in bef-”

“Get the paperwork ready.” Steve turns to Coulson with a mirrored shit-eating grin to Skye’s. “Fitz has a new job.”

 

○○○

 

Stiles stayed in the UCLA Medical Center for two weeks before he was directed to home care. It was easy to fall into a routine at the hospital, and he found himself seeking something familiar and reliable once he arrived in Beacon Hills. He followed a similar schedule to that which he had while hospitalized, only this one included more freedom.

He finds himself outside a lot.

Stiles used to spend a lot of time inside, researching, during his high school days. Outside, in society, seemed to be where the action was. It was where Scott was turned into a werewolf and where he was kidnapped, but it was also a privilege he didn’t have for eight months. He was only outside when he was being moved between facilities. Being in public spaces feels like a triumph, even if he does need to bring an escort with him.

He can’t be left alone. Not when his family and his doctors are still scared he’ll have panic attacks and suddenly face the gravity of the situation at one unknown moment, crashing and burning like a kamikaze.

He's against this notion, but he's also known to be self-deprecating and aggressively independent. 

His last caretaker, a kind middle-aged woman named Andrea, quit after he pretended to be lethargic and near death after taking his morning anti-anxiety medications. He was committed to the joke. She sobbed for twenty minutes before she realized he was faking it.

His new caretaker is named Leo, like DiCaprio or DaVinci, and he’s a sarcastic Scottsman that keeps reminding Stiles he’s too smart to be paid 9.55/hour to babysit him. Stiles thinks they’re getting along splendid. He showed up out of nowhere, really, but it seems like the only good thing he’s found in returning home.

He has good days and bad days, where  _ bad  _ can range from gruesome nightmares and insomnia to full fledged dissociative episodes where he merely lives inside of his own memories, and  _ good _ is merely relative to the bad days.

“Leo, coffee!” He knocks on the guest room door where he sleeps.

“I don’t know why your coffee machine isn’t good enough for you, you absolute menace.” He grumbles, opening the door and revealing himself as fully dressed, car keys in one hand.

They temporarily revoked Stiles’ license until he’s “stable” (of which no doctor is ever going to consider him any time soon).

“I like being in public.” He shrugs, feeling light after a dreamless sleep. “Now, let’s feed my chaos with caffeine.”

“If it makes you happy.” Leo rolls his eyes, pushing past Stiles and walking down the stairs. They take Leo’s car, a small beige Toyota Corolla, and head towards a cafe in town. 

Leo orders his drink for him, because his social anxiety has increased dramatically since his return to public life, but he relishes in the feeling of normality by sitting in a small coffee shop. That is, until a girl sits in front of him, in the space where Leo would normally fill.

“Hey.” She smiles lightly.

“Oh, buzz off, Skye.” Leo grumbles, setting their orders on the table. He pulls up another chair, though, instead of genuinely asking her to leave.

“You know her?” His eyebrows furrow at Leo.

“ _ Oh yeah,  _ we’re besties.” She smiles again, brown eyes twinkling. “But he hasn't introduced us yet. Rude, right?”

“I asked him, not you.” He glares at the strange girl, feeling the instinct to claim the table as his own. He understands why dogs seem to piss on everything that they claim as theirs, because in this moment, he wants nothing more than to be left with Leo.

“I just want to meet my friend's friends.” She shrugs, attempting to look appealing by leaning slightly closer and jutting out her bottom lip. “Especially the cute one's.”

Though her body language shouts  _ show interest in me _ , behind her eyes she seems bored. The mischievous twinkle of flirtation is missing, replaced with calculation. Normally this would concern Stiles, or even Leo, but he senses no malicious intent.

“You're not genuinely interested in me, so what's going on?” He leans back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee. “I'll bite.”

Skye looks half impressed, half annoyed. She turns to Leo, waving her hand nonchalantly. “Well, unless you need me as the muscle, go on.”

“You’re still human, Stiles, but you're, like,  _ superhuman _ .” Leo mutters. “I’ve been noticing. When you’re still tired and not totally self-aware, you leave dents in the house and break your mug handles.”

“I’m something, but  _ superhuman _ ?” He furrows his eyebrows. “Like Captain America?”

“Exactly like Captain America.”

Stiles pauses before letting out a brief snort. “I’m sorry, but I don't trust either of you enough to share just how ironic that is.”

“Ironic that after spending so much damn time around mythical creatures, the thing that makes you inhuman is humans?” Skye offers, tilting her head in curiosity. Stiles watches as she lifts her hand, pointing to Leo’s mug, which immaculately starts vibrating. The coffee ripples like a continuous streams of pebbles are being dropped in, until suddenly, it stops. Skye put her finger down. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

He closes his mouth, which had dropped slightly, and nods. “As long as you don't flirt with me anymore. I’m ultra-homosexual. Captivity is a surprisingly easy place to ponder your sexuality.”

The look on her face is positively beaming and the handshake she gives him in parting feels like a promise. An  _ I don’t know you, but I understand.  _ It's exactly what he needs.

 

○○○

 

“So what are you?” Stiles asks Leo, tossing him a bag of microwave popcorn. “Throw that in for me, will you?”

Leo fumbles on the catch, but nods. “What do you mean?”

“Well, your friend is a human vibrator.” He pauses, realizing the unfortunate way he phrased his words. He’s been doing that a lot lately, recognizing when he steps out of social comfort, but it doesn’t mean he corrects it. “I'm not taking that back. Anyway, what do you do?”

“I’m an engineer, a scientist, an occasional field agent.” He presses the buttons on the microwave and starts it.

Then it begins.

_ Pop. _

Stiles has no idea why he associates the sound with a moment in time, but he frustratingly finds himself trapped in thought.

_ The gun he's been given has a shitty black market silencer on it - it still lets out a  _ pop  _ at the whoosh of air. _

_ He walks silently into the room.  _

_ “Who?” He holds the gun horizontally, glancing at his supervisor. _

_ “All of them.” The man growls, his voice hoarse and void of empathy. _

_ Stiles doesn't question it anymore. He turns to the crowd of shaking men and women, already bloodied from torture.  _

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Click _. _

_ A clean shot to the skull kills all of them but one man in his early thirties, sitting with his eyes clenched shut. _

_ “I am out of bullets.” Stiles stares at him, awaiting instruction. _

_ “The order is to kill them, not shoot them.” His supervisor sighs. “Now  _ kill  _ him.” _

_ Stiles walks forward timidly, earning him a kick to his left heel. He stumbles forward, choking on a mumbled apology as he reaches the shaking man.  _

_ “I’m so sorry.” He whispers, staring in horror as his hands wrap around his head, readying himself to twist. He opens his eyes and meets Stiles’ with confidence. They're a shade of blue that make his heart clench in a reminder of something familiar.  _

_ “Vite, s’il vous plaît.” The man mutters, and with the vague French knowledge he has, he follows the man's dying wish. _

“Stiles!” 

He stumbles backwards, breathing heavily.

“Holy shit, I’m a murderer. Like, not even just the cage matches. I was a fucking weapon.”

“Yeah?” Leo helps lift him up, leading him to the couch. Stiles sinks into the material, burrowing into the blankets left atop it. “You were completely unresponsive to my voice, Stiles. I think the sound might have triggered that.”

Stiles feels very small underneath the covers. “Fucking popcorn.”

“It could have been anything.” Leo mumbles. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

Stiles nods, still feeling despondent.

“Do you want me to call your dad?” He shakes his head. “Scott?”

Stiles shakes his head again. He hides his trembling hands under the quilt. “Can we just eat the popcorn and watch a movie? I’m fine.”

Is it any less real if you pretend so? Stiles sees the symptoms of trauma disorders flickering through his behaviour, but he refuses to recognize them.

“I’m going to have to tell your doctor, but alright.” Leo looks hesitant, though he nods his head quickly and heads towards the kitchen.

When he gets back, Stiles is still staring at the TV screen, looking despondent.

“There's many, many people I know and love that have killed before. None of them feel proud of it, and I know you don't, which is why I have no doubt you're a good guy.” Leo speaks up, shocking the boy on the couch. He takes a seat beside him, noting that Stiles shifts his position slightly to face him.

“Were they innocent?” Stiles mumbles sadly, his eyes glistening.

“A few.” He nods. “Some were children, or parents. Sometimes you're between a rock and a hard place, or your own death or torture and a civilian casualty.”

“You haven't, though.” He acknowledges. “So you don't really get it, you’ve just comforted someone for it before.”

“I’ve killed in the field before.” He admits. “Not unless my team was threatened, though. I don't think that makes it any better, though. I mean, good people do bad things under orders. There was an experiment by Stanley Milgram in the 60’s that pretty well proved it, actually-” He pauses at the overwhelmed look on Stiles’ face. “Look, I can't pretend I’ve been in the same situation as you, because I can’t even imagine, but I can see the fight in you. You're not giving up any time soon - you're going to come out of this stronger.”

“Or horribly psychologically scarred.” He mutters.

“Well, that's inevitable.” Leo grins, and Stiles finds himself mirroring it.

 

○○○

 

By the time Leo wakes up, Stiles has already been working out in his basement for three hours. 

“Holy shit, you broke the punching bag.”

Stiles pauses mid-crunch and glances to the doorway, where Leo stands in his pyjamas, a coffee mug in his left hand.

“I broke it on my second punch.” He huffs. “It was $200. I’ve been working with weights and gravity since then. I have so much  _ energy,  _ you know?”

Leo stares at the punching bag. “You had to come at it with an incredible speed and power for that.”

Stiles shrugs. “Want to buy me a new one?”

Leo pauses, a small smile forming on his face. “Do you want to take a trip, Stiles?”

“Where?”

“You could have just nodded and made me feel a lot cooler with ending that sentence.” Leo rolls his eyes. “To my lab,  _ genius _ . I want to help you figure this,” He gestures to Stiles working out, “thing out and meet some of my friends.”

“I’m almost a genius, I’ve been tested.” Stiles smiles. “Also, you're in pyjamas. Not exactly cool.”

“Shut up.” He mumbles. “I’ll let my team know to pick us up. You’ll be back before your dad gets home.”

“This lab,” Stiles ponders cautiously, “Is it similar to the HYDRA tests?”

“God, no.” Leo shakes his head adamantly. “I wouldn’t put you near a genuine lab after 

“Where is the lab?”

Leo grins.

 

○○○

 

The lab is on a fucking plane, because  _ of course it is. _

“This is extremely reckless of me.” Stiles shouts over the sound of the plane hovering above them. Leo drove them out to a field to get picked up, which was already sketchy enough. “I think it's a rebellious streak brought forth by being constricted in my current environment!”

“Simmons is going to love you!” Leo shouts back, grabbing a black rope ladder that fell from above and climbing up, stopping about two person lengths up. Stiles follows, his feet on the bottom of it, clinging for dear life as it begins  _ moving  _ upwards.

Stiles has a brief moment where he thinks,  _ this is stupid _ , but then he’s in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Stiles is reckless and unwilling to admit his own vulnerability. What's new?  
> What to expect next: meeting Steve Rogers and Jemma Simmons, angst with family and pack. Hope to see you there <3


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles spends some time with Agents of SHIELD aboard the Globemaster, including one super-soldier in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand if you have to re-read the first two chapters to understand where we are. Please do if you don't remember the last bit, as we continue right where we left off. Thanks for supporting meee - enjoy!

The first person he sees is the girl from the cafe is standing in what looks like a garage, but it’s on a plane. Can planes have garages?

“Yes, they can.” Leo snorts, clapping a hand over Stiles’ shoulder and leading him inside.

Oh. Thinking not out loud. That's a thing he hasn't totally grasped yet.

“Hi, Skye.” He silently hopes he remembered the girl’s name correctly, a wave of relief washing over him when she smiles in acknowledgement. “Who’s this?”

A balding man in a grey suit stands next to her, a gentle smile on his face. “My name is Phil Coulson, director of SHIELD. We’ve been monitoring your case.”

Stiles blinks, unconsciously moving slightly behind Leo. “Unsettling.”

“See, told you nobody reacts well to that.” Skye scoffs, rolling her eyes at Phil. “You should have brought a truth serum.”

“For me?”

“For one of us to take and for you to question us.” Agent Coulson corrects. “That’s how we got Skye warmed up to us. It usually doesn’t take an undercover operation of a few months, if that’s what you think, but you were a delicate case.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“C’mon.” Leo grabs his wrist. “I want you to meet Jemma.”

He’s pulled through a doorway and into a lab, but it doesn’t remind him of HYDRA at all. It’s not dirty, nor is there any black uniforms in sight. It looks like something out of a movie - white, pristine counters and glowing blue diagrams litter the room. A girl around Leo’s age looks up from a microscope and smiles at the sight of him. Leo drops his arm and pulls her into a brief hug.

“This is Stiles.” He gestures to where Stiles stands awkwardly in the doorway, taking everything in.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles.” He’s surprised to hear a British accent welcoming him, and even more surprised when she goes for a hug. The silence is deafening when his arms freeze at his sides, refusing to reciprocate the action.

“Oh! Sorry!” He returns the hug briefly and she lets go with her eyebrows knitted together and an amused smile. “Social cues. Um, they’re a little disconnected right now. I’m a little touch-starved, y’know, don’t know how to respond to anything correctly.” He chuckles uncomfortably. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Sure.” She offers a concerned nod. “How did Leo convince you to visit us?”

“He broke a 200 pound punching bag, that’s how.” Leo huffs.

Stiles nods sheepishly. “I was just working out.”

“Why don’t you show him the gym?” Jemma quirks an eyebrow. “I think Steve might be there.”

“Oh, we’re definitely going to visit Mr. Wonderful.” Leo’s disposition changes into that of annoyance. “I mean, Stiles, you’re great and all, but I was not exactly jumping out of my seat to volunteer to be your coffee chauffeur when this whole thing first started. What if you were boring? I’d have died.”

Stiles smiles. “I appreciate the honesty. Who’s Steve?”

“Steve’s the man who made our friendship happen, but I still resent him for the circumstances. He’s kind of my boss, but not really.”

“Too close to your boss for us to prank him?”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

 

 

 

They end up in the locker room for the gym, which leads into the entrance, brainstorming ideas.

“Hair dye in shampoo?” Stiles suggests.

“He’d still look beautiful, that motherfucker.” Leo grunts. “Maybe you can beat him up?”

“Not interested in a panic attack, thanks.” Stiles snorts. “Hair removing gel in his shampoo?”

“What’s with you and shampoo?” He rolls his eyes. “We’re not touching the pretty boy’s looks - America would kill me.”

“What’s so important about Steve, anyway?”

“Huh.” Leo shrugs. “I guess I assumed you’d make the connection. Steve is Captain America.”

“Steve Rogers?” Stiles blinks in surprise. “I brought him up when we first met Skye. I don’t want to meet him, Leo.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was my first closeted crush and I still don’t know whether I am feeling real emotions or just pretending I still do.” His voice goes up an octave at the end, making it sound like a question, but he’s serious as can be.

“That’s perfect, though.” Leo borders on a whine. “You’re emotionally disconnected and unreasonably loyal - that's his type!”

“He’s _gay_?” Stiles nearly shouts.

“He came out as bisexual a few months ago, I guess it wasn’t big enough of news to discuss with your trauma and stuff going on.” Leo shrugs. “He always was - it wasn’t any sort of new revelation, but you know, the times change.”

“I need to process that my childhood crush likes my gender.” Stiles sighs wistfully. “It hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“You also ignored the fact that I said you’re kind of his type. Take your shirt off and go train, then completely ignore him. That’ll make my day.”

“I will not ignore Steve Rogers if he tries to talk to me. I just won’t.” Stiles shakes his head. “But I’m definitely going in there to train. I’m already in my workout clothes, and I’m assuming your equipment won’t break. I won’t initiate conversation with him if it helps you sleep at night.”

Leo glares at Stiles in mock-anger. “You’re betraying our plan?” 

“It’s for the good of humanity.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Make sure we’re out of here before eight, though, alright? I told my dad we’d be back by nine.”

“Alrighty, boss.” Leo snorts.

“Hey, does this mean I need to get an actual caregiver or are you still doing that?”

“Did you ever need a caregiver?” He raises an eyebrow. “Or just a neutral party to just, you know, _be there_?”

Stiles blinks, thinking.

He still doesn’t feel comfortable around anyone in the Pack, but that’s more because he knows their discomfort is very present. He can feel their hesitance around him coming off in waves. His dad simply can’t be around with work, and the regular caregivers spent far too much time coddling him like he couldn’t have any independent thoughts or processes in his life without danger.

“Thanks for being around, Leo. I genuinely appreciate everything you have and continue to do for me.” He says seriously, turning towards the gym entrance and entering before the shocked Scotsman has a change to respond.

He spots a punching bag as soon as he enters, smiling lightly at the memory of his own lying on the floor after he knocked it down. He doesn’t notice another presence in the gym, so he gets to work. He got plenty done on his arms with weights at home, but he hadn’t had the chance to work his legs or do any cardio. Noticing a row of treadmills opposite the punching bag, he hops on and starts running.

And running.

And running.

He never used to be able to run this much.

He briefly wonders how long he can go before shoving the thought out and focusing on keeping his breathing steady as he turned up the speed.

 

 

 

“Okay, what are you?”

Stiles jumps at hearing a new voice, stumbling on the treadmill and falling to the ground, not before skidding his cheek against the nearly full-speed plastic track.

“Fuck!” He curses, a hand jumping to his face. The skin is raw against his cheek, and when he pulls his palm into his line of vision, he notices it’s bleeding too. “What the fuck!”

The treadmill stops, and when he looks up, Steve Rogers is staring at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, I just saw you running and I didn’t recognize you from the side. You ran on almost full-speed for an hour and a half. I didn’t think you weren’t human.”

“How about now?” Stiles waves his hands around dramatically, cringing at the fact that he’s sitting on the ground after wiping out in front of Captain America.

“I’m sorry.” He reaches out a hand and helps Stiles to his feet. He’s got an inch on him, but not by much. Stiles straightens his posture to try and level their height.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

_In the compartment to your right, Mr. Stilinski._

“What was that?” Stiles furrows his eyebrows at the sound of a speaker.

“Oh, Stark installed JARVIS into the plane while I’m here.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, turning to his side to grab the first aid kit that the AI mentioned. “You get used to him after a while.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Stiles shrugs. “I spend my free time being tortured and falling over my own two feet.”

“It was my fault you fell.” He pulls the small white briefcase with a red cross on it into his hand and then connects his eyes with Stiles’. “Let me clean you up.”

Stiles remembers what Leo said.

He looks down and notices blood on his shirt from where he absentmindedly wiped the sweat from his face while sitting on the floor and before he has time to overthink it, he pulls the material over his head and nods nonchalantly at the superhero.

“Do you have laundry too?”

Steve clears his throat loudly. “Um, yes. Laundry. First aid. Yes.” He turns around and starts walking away from him. “This way.”

Stiles follows with a grin.

 

 

 

Stiles is laying on the couch in a common area of sorts, shirtless, with Steve Rogers tending to his wound from the ottoman at his side.

“Is it bad?”

“Not deep or anything, but it’s going to sting like a bitch.”  
“I can take it.” He mumbles.

Steve flushes. “Good to know.”

Stiles laughs, whole and heartily. “I was referring to the fact that I’ve only recently been living without constant pain, but I guess a little BDSM humour never hurts.”

Stiles watches as the man’s face turns a deeper shade of red. He pours more disinfectant on the wound, causing Stiles to stop laughing. “Okay, okay, sheesh.”

“Sorry.” He mutters.

“I’m not.” He grins in reply.

Steve sighs, leaning away from him and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“What?” Stiles asks, insecurity seeping through his veins at the sudden loss of contact.

“I’ve been done dressing the wound for almost five minutes. I’m being excessive. You’re done.” He sighs, glancing down and then up to the ceiling. “And put a shirt on.”

“Bothering you?” He asks seriously.

“No.” He shakes his head, eyes never leaving the ceiling.

“Getting you hot and bothered?”

He flushes again and stands up, leaving the room without a trace.

“Hey! I don’t know where the laundry is that you threw my shirt into!” Stiles calls after him, but he’s long gone.

_Mr. Fitz appears to be looking for you, Mr. Stilinski. If you would follow the blue lights above you, I can lead you back to him._

“My shirt?” He echoes his previous concern.

_It’s eight-fifteen, Mr. Stilinski. I’m sure you can have it returned to you upon your next visit._

Stiles looks up and spots the blue lights, following with a quick jog in the opposite direction to where Steve had left.

 

 

 

“Stiles, where the hell were you?” Leo calls out when he appears in the garage once again.

“Um—”

“You’re shirtless.” Skye comments.

“And injured.” Phil narrows his eyes. “But… treated?”

“Time to go, Leo!” Stiles smiles tightly.

“We’re talking about this later.” Leo sighs, nodding to Phil, who hands them a rope ladder and begins lowering the plane gate.

The short trip down isn’t scary like he thought it would be. He isn’t sure if it’s adrenaline from the height or the man who had his heart beating against his ribcage.

 

 

 

When he arrives home, Lydia is sitting at his kitchen table, typing on her laptop.

She doesn’t look up when he enters. “Hi, Stiles.”

When Leo catches up to him, she raises her gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Who is this?”

Leo, rather than gracing her with a response, turns to Stiles. “I need the full story on your injury and I’m assuming some of the information will be classified. She has to go.”

“Stiles, what the hell have you gotten into?” Lydia huffs.

Stiles follows Leo suit, ignoring her question and instead choosing to respond to his previous statement. “Is Captain America startling me on a treadmill, causing injury, then getting flustered when I took off my bloody shirt classified?”

“You little shit!” Leo groans, animatedly tugging at his hair while the teenager grinned triumphantly. “You can’t just say stuff like that!”

“Lydia is my best friend.” He scoffs. “She would have found out anyway.”

“I’d appreciate being acknowledged, as your _best friend_.” She clears her throat, crossing her arms expectantly.  
“Dearest Lydia Martin, I, Stiles Stilinski, would like to formally acknowledge your presence in the room.” He offers a dramatic bow before clapping a hand over Leo’s shoulder. “This is Leo. He’s my babysitter and good friend. He’s helping me figure out the whole super power thing from a different perspective.”

“Super _natural_ , you mean.” She glares at the hand Stiles rests on Leo. “We can fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix.” Leo counters. “This isn't a werewolf bite - it’s a human-made change in his DNA, and it’s not a flaw.”

“It was created by evil people.” She stands up from the dining set, hands clenched at her side. “Stiles isn’t evil.”

“Then there shouldn’t be an issue.” Leo doesn’t back down from the challenge. “Don’t spend your time trying to take this part of him away in some twisted attempt to bring the old Stiles back. He’s great just the way he is right now and worthy of your support.”

She stands in silence for half a minute before dropping her shoulders and turning to Stiles. “I missed you.”

Stiles invites her in for a hug and rubs her back as she lets out a trembling breath.

“I didn’t forget you, Lyds.” He murmurs.

“Couldn’t if you tried.” She laughs shakily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long. On the bright side, I am officially broken up with my ex, accepted into University for ENGLISSHHH, and writing on a brand spankin' new laptop. It's a new era, friends. Endless thank-you's to all of you who stuck around and those who found themselves reading my other works. I appreciate you so muuuuchh! xx
> 
> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scotty talk for a bit. Stiles has a flash of memory that raises concerns about the whereabouts of a certain soldier of a certain season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note the update on the relationship in the tags. if you don't like it kindly exit now, or give it a try!<3

“Care to explain the flustered Californian who just left?” Sky leaned against the doorway of Steve’s bedroom, watching him shove his face into his pillow with an embarrassed groan. 

“How old is he?” Steve mumbles.

“Eighteen. He’s been through enough to put him at par with you mentally, though, so I’m not surprised by the connection.”

“He mentioned the torture.” He sighs, sitting up and motioning for Skye to enter.

She takes a seat on the end of his bed. “Anything else?”

“BDSM.” Red creeps up his neck and onto his cheeks, causing her to laugh.

“Of course he did.” She chuckles. “Torture is just what he’s come back from recently, though. You didn’t look back that far into his case file or have weekly meetings with Leo. He’s strong, stronger than I would be in his situation.”

“What else has happened?”

“That depends,” She raises an eyebrow. “On whether or not you plan on moving past a professional relationship with him.”

“Why?” He asks, voice quiet.

“Would you want to find out from him, or from a piece of paper?” She pauses before speaking again. “Or, rather, what do you think he would want?”

“I’m curious.” The superhero sighs, falling back onto the bed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s easy.” She smiles. “See him again.”

 

 

 

Stiles turns up on Scott’s porch on a Tuesday. He doesn’t even get the chance to knock before the door opens and their eyes meet.

It’s silent, for a really long time. An uncomfortable amount of time. Stiles feels like a stranger, a feeling he never expected to face in front of someone he _knows_ is his brother, genetics be damned.

“Do you… want to come in?” Scott steps to the side so Stiles has room to enter.

He nods briefly, stepping in to the house and following him into his kitchen, where there’s a mug of coffee waiting for him.

“I heard your jeep.” Scott says as an explanation. “I make one every time you come by.”

“I’ve driven past your house seven times in the past two days.” Stiles blinks.

“Well,” Scott blushes. “Yeah.”

“Thank you.” He nods, taking a seat. 

“What happened to your face?”

Stiles’ hand ghosts over the healing burn from skidding against the plastic of the treadmill and recalls the fact that the werewolf will be able to tell if he’s lying. “It’s classified, for now. Sorry, I don’t know how to go about this.”

“Go about what?”

“Knowing you.”

“Oh.” His forehead wrinkles and Stiles curses.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Scott insists. “A little damaged ego is nothing in comparison to what you went through. I have no right to complain about it. I’m sorry _you’re_ sorry.”

Stiles cracks a smile. “We can stop saying sorry.”

“How have you been, since, you know.” He trails off.

“Since I got home?” Stiles clarifies. “Um, okay. I guess. All things considered. I’ve made a lot of progress.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Sorry,” Scott interrupts it, pausing to shake his head when he realizes his mistake. He looks up in shock when Stiles lets out a laugh. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Stiles nods. “Even if I don’t completely understand what that means right now, I’m still dedicated to it. You’re my brother. I know that much.”

“I didn’t find you.” He lets out a breath, holding up a hand to stop Stiles’ incoming speech. “I know I did everything I could, but I always assumed it had something to do with us. How narcissistic, right? I thought because, you know, everything else was involved in that, that we would receive a ransom note. Maybe you would wind up dead, or as a beta for another pack, or a sacrifice for a witch. I just thought it’d come to us. When your scent stopped coming to me, I should have mobilized some sort of unit with other packs, but I didn’t, I just left it to the police.”

“Scott—” Stiles swallows a lump in his throat.

“I mean, you were always the smart one. I ran on instinct long before I was a werewolf. You’re the one who figured it out, too, because even then I didn’t understand the big picture. I always looked at the little things, but the big picture was that you were gone. I almost went insane, after the first month. Nothing worked. Derek was a mess. It was like losing another family member.”

“Scott—” Stiles attempts to interrupt again, feeling an itch at the base of his neck. He shifts his weight in the chair awkwardly, feeling claustrophobic in his own skin. 

He resists the urge to run.

“You didn’t deserve it. We always tried to keep you out of it, Stiles, you have to know that. We tried to keep you safe. You’re innocent. You were always more sensitive than us, I mean, you’re human—”

“I’m not.”

Scott pauses. “What?”

“I am not human and I am not innocent. I am not.” He takes a deep breath. “Not anymore.”

“You being a victim of this doesn’t change who you are, Stiles.” Scott lends him a sympathetic smile, the same one that Stiles thinks of when he feels the gut wrenching guilt of his actions.

“But it does.” He closes his eyes in frustration, shaking his head. “You mean well, but you’re wrong. I am physically and mentally different, but I am not bad and I am worthy of your support.”

“Your shrink really did a number on you.” Scott chuckles awkwardly. “I _know_ you’re not bad, I just mean you’re still the same Stiles to me.”

“His name is Leo and he’s my caretaker, not a shrink.” Stiles frowns. “And that’s the problem. I can’t live up to that expectation. I’m not the same.”

“Is this about that super-unnatural thing you mentioned at the hospital?” Scott’s voice is barely above a whisper.

He nods. “I’m inhuman.”

“Like Captain America?”

Stiles flushes. “Yes, like Captain America.”

“Oh.” He looks up, as if confused by the concept. “How does this change who you are?”

“Being inhuman only affects my physical being,” He says softly. “Any mental changes I’ve had is from how I _became_ inhuman—the torture, the bloodshed.”

“You were hurt there?” Scott asks in confirmation.

Stiles twiddles his thumbs. “I hurt others more.”

“What?” Scott asks. “I couldn’t hear you.”

He looks up, holding eye contact. “I hurt others more. I killed them - dozens. I am not _innocent_.”

“You…” 

Stiles waits for a response, but it doesn’t come soon enough. He stands up, giving into the instinct to run, walking as calmly as he could manage towards the exit. He’s in his Jeep, seatbelt on and backing out of the driveway before he considers the fact that Scott didn’t even try and chase after him.

 

 

  
“He’s just overwhelmed right now, Stiles. You didn’t exactly give him a lot of context.” Leo greeted Stiles’ retelling of his interaction with Scott with a hug, pulling back to allow the restless boy to pace.

“He kept going on about how I was human and innocent and it made me want to scream.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I _knew_ he’d look at me different, logically, I knew.”

“So you threw everything on the table in hopes of nuking the whole thing to get it over with, didn’t you?” Leo sighs. “Stiles, he’ll come back around.”

“Will he?” He stops pacing, taking a deep breath. 

“You don’t really think he would abandon you, do you?” Leo shakes his head, walking towards him. Stiles looks smaller, somehow, standing still and despondent. “You do.”

Stiles blinks quickly, fighting a moisture in his eyes, and opens his mouth to respond. Nothing comes out but another shaky breath. He closes it, clenching his jaw, remembering for a moment.

_“Stiles is some of our finest work here.” The supervisor grins. “He can take anything coming his way—his emotions are almost irrelevant, but not gone. They make him easier to utilize in the field.”_

_Stiles focuses on his breathing, shoving the small part of him that’s still crying for his dad into a corner and stares at the concrete wall._

_“Can he get to him?” The other person, a woman in her mid-thirties, hums._

_“He can get to anyone. He’s not just a pretty face.” The smile is sinister.  
“So we make it his mission?”_

_“We have the Soldier’s location.” He nods. “When they meet, his order is to kill him. He knows that.”_

_Stiles knew that order from the day he entered the fighting ring. There was always one person who was better than him, the one they all wanted to be: The Winter Soldier. He was more conceptual than anything else, an idea floating around the cage, a reason to keep going, something to beat._

_Stiles knew he was always supposed to beat him, but when he recognized his face, he couldn’t move._

_It was three months after that conversation with his supervisor, and he was alone, waiting to meet with a scientist in a coffee shop._

_“I know you.” He let slip out, staring at the man who sat in the seat in front of him. They weren’t supposed to ‘accidentally’ meet for another two weeks. “I know who you are.”_

_“I know you too.” The man replied, nodding casually. “And what you have to do.”_

_“Why?” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for._

_“Are you going to do it?” He looks at ease for someone with a target on their head._

_“It’s my mission.” Stiles blinks._

_“And what does that mean to you?”_

_He pauses for a moment, taking in his disheveled appearance. He feels a ghost of a punch from the ring, a touch from the doctor’s, and he feels enraged by his mission._

_“Nothing. It means absolutely nothing to me.” He says, articulating each syllable with fury._

_The man’s eyebrows raise in controlled surprise, something he recognizes._

_“I won’t show up in two weeks. I found out about their plan. Prepare for the repercussions, because they’re going to take it out on you.”_

_“How do I get out?”_

_“Wait.” He says softly, standing up and readying himself to leave. “Stay alive. I won’t abandon you, not if you haven’t given up.”_

He feels like he’s mourning something he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“I’m going to bed now.” He announces.

“It’s seven o’clock.” Leo replies incredulously.

“Yeah.” He nods, ignoring the tone and walking towards his room. “Goodnight.”

 

 

 

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi.” Stiles murmurs, clutching the pillow lying on his chest tighter. 

“Do you remember when I came to visit you in the hospital?” John Stilinski sits down on the side of his son’s bed. “What you said?”

Stiles nods. “I’m dangerous.”

“You told me something else.” He shakes his head with pinched brows. “You said, _I’ve always been strong,_ and you didn’t mean physically. That’s a new thing, and that’s okay, but the mental strength? That’s always been there.”

“I’m a murderer.” He deadpans. “Where is this going?”

“You and I both know you’re a victim too and that you’re too stubborn to admit that some of those people pitied you just as much as you empathized with them.”

He swallows a lump in his throat. “I’ve been talking to SHIELD.”

“I know.” He’s surprised when the response is a chuckle. “Leo told me. I figured you would when you were ready.”

“I have to talk to them, like, soon.” He sighs.

“Why?”

He thinks of how James looked in the coffee shop, gentle but fierce, like an evergreen in the dead of winter. He looked like he had been through hell and walked out and into Stiles’ line of sight, but he was coherent. He was healthy. He looked ready for something.

“I need to know how they found me.”

“The FBI and SHIELD worked together, based on our police accounts and any tips that SHIELD might have gotten that were out of our capacity.” He explains gently.

He stares at his father, face void of emotion. “What tips?”

“There was a call reporting you in Washington that caused some attention. Another gave us a tip on the HYDRA facility there, but that was a month or two after.” He explains. “Why are you asking this now?”

“I need to talk to Steve.” He closes his eyes briefly, allowing a deep breath to escape his mouth. “I think I knew James Barnes in the last few months of my stay.”

“Define knew!” Leo shouts from downstairs, causing Stiles to bark out a laugh.

“I think he saved my life.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you always for your wonderful feedback, it's the reason i post anything at all! there won't be an update for a while, as far as i can think. i'm fairly busy up until march break, which i'll be in england for (london/bath region/stratford/all that good stuff). i'll try. hope you enjoyed!
> 
> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles explains the relationship he had with James Barnes and what it means for the future.

The meeting room table is too large for the small mission group, leaving the SHIELD agents clustered at the end. Leo takes the head of the table, relaying what he heard Stiles say.

“He thinks… that Barnes saved his life.” Phil stares at Leo, face void of emotion. “Why?”

“Hell if I know.” He huffs. “He had a fight with his friend, I was talking to him about it and he just stopped. He stared at the wall for, like, two minutes and then said he was going to bed.”

“Stared at the wall?” Skye furrows her eyebrows.

“He did it before, when he was having a flashback, so I didn’t stop him.” Leo shakes his head, “But later, when he was talking to his dad, he mentioned that he thought he knew Barnes, at least for the last few months. He didn’t elaborate.”

“What’s his role in this?” Phil asks, voice tired. “Barnes has been missing for months, ever since he left a tip that he escaped HYDRA to Stark—why tell us this?”

“Because he said he wanted to tell Steve.” Leo makes eye contact with the super-soldier, trying to keep his voice steady as the man returns it intensely. “He said he thought Bucky saved his life, and he wants to tell _you_ how.”

Steve’s breath catches at the sentence. He doesn’t look like the strong, nuclear family poster boy you could have seen in the 1940s. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are unfocused, blurred with tears unwilling to fall.

The room is silent as they wait for his response. It isn’t uncomfortable, though, but rather the opposite. It’s a comforting sort of quiet that offers him time to think.

“Where is he?” He rasps.

“At home.” Leo replies quickly. “And I can have him up here or you down there in ten minutes, but only if you feel ready to talk about this.”

“I’ll go.” He nods fast, slowing down when Phil gives him a concerned glance. “I need to know.”

 

 

 

“I feel very uncomfortable.” Stiles sits across from Steve on his bedroom floor, both of them cross-legged on the carpet.

“We can get off the floor…”

“Not physically.” Stiles laughs awkwardly, “I meant the fact that I know your missing and occasionally presumed dead childhood super-friend, but thank you.”

“Blunt.” Steve smiles tightly.

Stiles taps his head with his pointer finger. “Just a little emotionally detached, but we’re getting there. I feel really displaced with this situation, but I think you’re the person to talk to.”

“How did you meet Bucky?” His voice is soft, a sign of a heartbroken man.

“It started earlier than when we met.” He sighs. “It’s a long story, I spent all of yesterday thinking about him. Us. You know.”

“I don’t know.” Steve tries to sound friendly, but he can’t help the frustration that leaks through. “I don’t know anything, actually, that’s why I’m here.”

“I was supposed to kill him. That was my mission, all that jazz. They bred me to be on par physically with you or James, but still an independent mind so that I could manipulate situations better. They didn’t expect me to resist after all the torture, but then I was faced with who I was trained to murder.” He looks up from twiddling his thumbs and Steve isn’t surprised to find the boy’s eyes misty. “The plan was to pretend to accidentally run into him two weeks later, but there he was, sitting in front of me at a coffee shop. He knew what my mission was, but he talked to me about it. Told me that he wasn’t going to show up for our supposed _accidental_ meeting and to prepare myself.”

“For what?” Steve interjects.

“For punishment.” Stiles shrugs emotionlessly. “I would be the only person to blame, but that wasn’t the end.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You saw him again?” 

Stiles nods. “He, um, visited me.”

“Stiles…” Steve trails off, knowing he isn’t getting the full story.  
“After the punishment, he came back, and he didn’t stop coming. He’d bring water or just his own company, talking me down from the brink of insanity. He’d promise to fix it, promise to get me out of there.” His face scrunches up at the memories. “I got so mad, one day, that he hadn’t contacted Scott or my dad and told them I was okay. I was losing the memory of who I was and he hadn’t done anything except whisper sweet nothings into my ear about a time after the present. I yelled at him, and it wasn’t nice, and then he left for two weeks.”

“He was still in hiding.” Steve mumbles. “Stubborn prick.”

“The next time I saw him before I got out, and the last thing he said to me was _I can’t wait to see you outside of here._ I was so messed up—they went hard those weeks, giving me no breaks, no time to heal. I could barely understand him, didn’t remember him.” He chokes on a sob, forcing his breathing pattern to slow down enough to continue talking. “But he let me panic, let me cry, didn’t even try to stop me as I tried to attack him when he came inside. He found a way into my cell almost once every three days after the first time, so having him gone for so long made me lose a lot more a lot faster. I think he took my speech to heart, because after he left that night, I’m not even sure if it was another full day before I was out.”

Stiles stares at his clasped hands with a frown. Steve takes note of it. The teen looks broken beyond belief, held together only by his intertwined limbs. He’s on the cusp of hyperventilating, allowing tears to fly freely down his pale cheeks. 

Steve doesn't realize he’s been scooting forward on the carpet throughout Stiles’ confession until he’s close enough to place a hand on the boy’s knee. “Is that all?”

“He mentioned you.” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“It sounds like he had more important things on his mind than contacting an old friend.” Steve smiles lightly. “I’m glad he was there to help you.”

“He loved you.” Stiles shakes his head. “Really loved you. I think he still does.”

Steve huffs out a heartless laugh. “Figures that Bucky would find a way to come back to haunt me even after disappearing.” 

“You had to have loved each other.” Stiles places his hand on top of the soldier’s, which hadn’t left his knee. 

“We did.” He nods slowly. “We did…”

“I told James I loved him.” He blurts out. “I think I feel guilty right now.”

“Why?” Steve removes his hand, taken aback.

“We talked for hours every time he came. Maybe it was Stockholm, a hero complex, something, but it felt so real. He said it back.” His voice trails off into a whisper as he realizes he’s been rambling. “I haven’t told anybody that. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean why do feel like you love him,” Steve’s eyes widen and he immediately reaches back for the hand that he had abandoned holding, gripping it like the boy would break without it. “I meant, why would you feel guilty?”

“You were together.” His hand is shaking in Steve’s. “He stayed with me and not you. _I’d_ hate me if I were you.”

“I can see why he would stay with you.” Steve smiles, but it’s tight-lipped again and it feels slightly insincere. “But I don’t know whether I’m jealous because you know Buck or because he knows you.”

“Oh.” He replies dumbly. “I never considered that infatuation might be reciprocated.”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly make the best first impression.” Steve lifts his hand up, ghosting it over the nearly-healed mark on Stiles’ cheek as if he wants to touch it.

Stiles leans into the digits, and it feels like there should be a kiss or something to go with it, but the touch itself is so _intimate._ They hold each other’s gaze for a moment before Steve speaks.

“Do you think we can find him?” He mumbles, rubbing a thumb over Stiles’ lip.

“He always found me.” He croaks out.

“We all have to step out of our comfort zone at some point, I suppose.” Steve sighs wistfully, dropping his hand and looking down at his knees. “He did that in trying to save you.”

“You do know that if we find him, it’ll be on his terms, right?” Stiles asks softly. “We can’t force this. He’s different than what you might remember.”

“I just hope he wants to be found.” The smile is pained, but it’s genuine. “I don’t care whether he’s going by James or Bucky or has three heads now, I just want to know he’s okay.”

 

 

 

 

He visits his mother’s grave.

It’s uneventful. He feels like he lost the reality of her passing while he was under HYDRA control - he had no time to wish for anything already gone. It’s a beautiful stone, _Claudia Stilinski_ carved below the depiction of an angel.

He cries, but he doesn’t know what for. 

_Cherished, always._

He mourns it all.

When he comes home two hours after he left with red, puffy eyes and snot-covered sleeves, his dad offers him a hug that he accepts with shaking arms.

 

 

 

 

He goes to Derek for help because Derek is sensible, despite his emotional constipation. Stiles can actually relate to that now, so it’s a perfect match.

He could have asked Steve, but it felt like he had already overwhelmed him with the declaration of not only his love for his ex boyfriend (or is he current? Did they breakup when he was presumed dead and never returned?) but also his apparently reciprocated crush. It’d be easier to talk to James, _then_ talk to Steve, rather than having all three of them in a room of strangling sexual tension. 

“You want me to take you back to the HYDRA facility where you almost _died_?” He repeats Stiles’ request with a pinched expression on his aace. “Because you think a guy you like is there.”

“ _Love_.” He corrects with a brief, nervous smile. “Because I think a guy I love is there.”

Stiles remembers his brief crush on Derek fondly. It was an introduction into his apparent taste for physically enhanced, gruff men. Derek handled it with the utmost respect—he knew Stiles was stupidly infatuated with him (it was obvious). He was gentle and never dismissive, avoiding anything that could have embarrassed Stiles, despite enough reason to warrant annoyance. 

The kindness Derek offered during that period of time was the only reason they were able to become friends afterwards. It was a level of maturity Stiles hadn’t seen yet in someone who was his _friend_ rather than a parental figure. He’d been able to turn it into something to look up to.

“If he found you there, he would know you got out. It was on local news before they put a cap on the publicity.” He grunts.

“He won’t know if I’m ready.” Stiles frowns. “I yelled at him the last time I was coherent, it wasn’t exactly welcoming. He’s a sensitive soul, you know.”

Derek sighs, “What’s so important about this guy?”

“He saved my life.” He straightens his posture, making eye contact with the werewolf. “But it’s more than that. You did that much, but I know that was just a fixation. This was… more. Everything.”

Derek’s features soften. “You aren’t going to let him go, are you?”

“I’ve got more than just me counting on his return home, wherever that may be.” He mumbles. “It could be with me. It could be with him, the other guy. It could be with _us_.”

Derek’s eyebrows offer no concealment of his surprise, but his lips betray him as they quirk into a smile. “Is that what you want?”

He can feel himself blushing. “They’re both great.”

“Washington, you said?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“The state, not the city, but yeah. It’s a fourteen hour drive.” He smiles. “Road trip?”

“Only a two hour flight.” He smiles, unable to hide the smugness in his tone. “If you were willing to ask some people, it could be even shorter.”

Stiles smiles, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve been conspiring with Leo, haven’t you?”

“And Steve.” He admits. “We had a talk.”

“I don’t want to know about you and Steve talking to each other.” He covers his ears mockingly. “Your dick measuring contest doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Just because he’s a superhero doesn’t mean he’s not subject to the interrogation we’d give anyone who’s shoving their nose in our pack.” He huffs out a laugh. “It wasn’t a dick measuring contest; he just needed to know that you have people who will always take your side, and to keep that in mind.”

“Yeah.” He agrees awkwardly, remembering the feeling of running out of Scott’s house.

As if reading his mind, Derek sighs. “He’ll come around. You both know you need the space.”

“I already got my space.” He allows some bitterness to seep into his tone. “For eight months.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Derek growls lowly, a warning. “You can’t demand an apology, just like you can’t demand forgiveness. It doesn’t work.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I know.”

“It goes the same way for you.” He replies pointedly. “You don’t owe anyone the old Stiles. He’s just a memory they need to let change. You’re you, and however you choose to present yourself, this pack stands beside you.”

“Even though I killed people?” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, embarrassed. 

Derek’s eyes are sad when he nods. “That’s when you need us most, isn’t it?”

“Stop.” Stiles laughs incredulously. “When did you get so emotional?”

“We all changed a little bit after you were gone. We needed to.” He shrugs halfheartedly. “Everyone grew up a bit. Sometimes you need something terrible to happen to come to something good.” 

It’s sage advice—Stiles knows Derek is far too familiar with the likes of _terrible_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Comments are greatly appreciated - your feedback means a lot to me. Thanks for sticking around.
> 
> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Jemma go hunting for James, though it seems it may be working the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this one.

He ends up on the plane again, arguing with a group that is becoming familiar to him.  
Nobody comments on the fact that they don’t request him to travel through the corridors of the plane with a guide, nor the fact that he now knows his way around without one (a certain AI is partial to him).  
“I have to go alone.” He says adamantly. “If I go, you drop me off and you leave. That’s how this needs to work.”  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Leo says immediately, pausing to collect his thoughts when Stiles’ narrows his eyes. “Not just as someone who was your genuine caretaker, but as a friend, I’m concerned about how you might react to seeing someone who was involved with the abuse you faced.” Stiles makes a motion to interrupt, but Leo continues, louder, “You don’t know how you’ll react. It doesn't matter how you want to.”  
His face isn’t defeated, per se, but it’s close. Leo’s instinct is to offer an apology of sorts, but he can’t lie to Stiles, not as a friend.  
“I don’t want to scare him away.” He replies after a moment of hesitation. “I don’t know anyone who won’t scare him away.”  
Eyes dart around the room, lying on Jemma, who began shaking her head at the attention.  
“He doesn’t like guys. You have a calming persona.” Skye shrugs. “I don’t.”  
“Not interested.” She straightens her posture. “I don’t even think looking for this guy is a good idea. He’s dangerous.”  
Stiles nods. “And? Am I not dangerous?”  
She blinks, letting out a noise of protest. “Well, yes, but you’re—”  
“Not depersonalized?” He supplies. “Human, in your mind? Vulnerable and more complex than a robot killing machine?”  
“You know that’s not what I think about Barnes, don’t put words into my mouth.” Her voice turns cold at his implications. “I want him safe just as much as anyone in this room.”  
Leo sighs. “He can’t go alone.”  
“If you care, then come.” He holds her gaze. “Then help me bring him home.”  
She pauses, analyzing the boy’s face.  
She sees something.  
Maybe the persistence in his eyes reminds her of herself, of her time on Maveth. She was on an edge that nobody else understood upon her return from the isolated world. All the wanted was Will—someone familiar—to return home safely, no matter how dangerous of a situation she might have to put herself in.  
She still has the nightmares sometimes, about Will, about leaving him behind.  
Stiles doesn’t know how similar their stories are. He doesn’t need to—she wants to change the ending of his.  
“Okay.”

 

Jemma and Stiles do not look like they belong beside each other. It’s like a dove flying beside a pigeon. It’s possible, but severely unlikely, and slightly intriguing.  
The juxtaposition of his ripped jeans and faded _NASA_ tee and her much smarter collared blouse and capris gained the odd look from a local, but Stiles couldn’t be bothered. The idea of seeing Barnes again left him with an odd buzz of anxiety and excitement.  
“Do you want to go in?” Jemma asks, bless her, for the second time. “Or… this is okay, I guess.”  
They’ve been standing outside the coffee shop that Stiles first met Bucky in for three minutes. He stopped before they could reach the door, sitting on a bench in front of it with a huff. Jemma followed suit, assuming he had a plan.  
“I need to not think about him for a second or I’m going to panic.” He admits. “Got any ideas?”  
She shrugs. “Is anything else off-limits?”  
“Um, let’s not talk about him or my friends from before the whole trauma thing, but other than that, anything.” He nods.  
“Have you tested your abilities yet?” She asks, voice curious but timid, just in case it’s also a sensitive topic.  
“How would you define testing?” He sighs. “I don’t have numbers or records, but I haven’t exactly forgotten the faces of the people I’ve hurt, or even the nurse who’s hand I broke when she just wanted to help me.”  
He’s not unwilling to talk about what he’s done (mostly in thanks to Leo), but the shame he carries is evident.  
“I’d like to give you numbers and records, Stiles.” He looks up at the mention of his name, noting the seriousness on her face. The sun comes from behind her, creating a halo effect as he squints to hold eye contact. “It might bring you a sense of security that you wouldn’t expect.”  
He clasps his hands together, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know if I want to know, to be honest. I don’t know.”  
“It’s not so simple. You’re not pregnant, electing to not find out the sex.” She scoffs. “You can’t just be like, you know, surprise! _I accidentally overextended myself because I don’t understand my power and it had grave consequences!_ It’s irresponsible.”  
He scrunches his nose. “I didn’t ask to be responsible.”  
“Ah, but you are.” A small smile creeps on to her face. “Whether you want to be or not, you protect people, Stiles. Even I can see that much.”  
“Let’s go inside.” He takes a deep breath before standing and walking towards the cafe.

 

“What did you expect?”  
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, taking a slow sip from a milkshake. “I have a feeling my whole _he will find me if he wants to be found_ spiel is true, but even if it isn’t, I don’t know the first place to start looking for him.”  
“What’s that saying?” She muses. “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it’s yours, and if it doesn’t—”  
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He grunts the final line, standing up. “I’m going to order a drink.”  
“Be careful how much you order.” She warns, gesturing to his empty cups littering the table. “I don’t know if they have a toilet here.”  
“I’ll ask when I’m up there.” He sighs, navigating his way to the counter.  
“Another coffee?” The barista asks politely.  
“Um, a green tea this time, please.” He replies, shifting his weight from side-to-side. “Do you guys have a washroom?”  
The girl sizes him up, noticing his juvenile _I have to pee_ dance, and nods lightly. She leans in slightly, like it could get her in trouble. “We do, but it’s technically employees only. You’ve bought a ton of drinks, though, so I’ll get someone to let you in. I can just have your drink ready for when you come back.”  
“Thank you.” He smiles, swiping his debit card.  
“Jared!” She calls to the back, and a young, black guy in a uniform comes out.  
“My shift doesn’t start for another ten minutes.” He frowns. “What’s up?”  
“Will you let this guy into the washroom?” She nods at Stiles. “He’s bought half our business for the past hour.”  
The teen rolls his eyes, but nods, gesturing for him to follow.  
Stiles seeks out eye contact with Jemma so she knows where he’s going. She smiles and gives him a thumbs up like she potty trained him herself.  
“Your girlfriend?” The guy asks.  
“Oh, no, she’s just my friend.” He babbles. “I think she might like one of my best friends, actually, but nobody can decide if they’d be good together or not. I have my bets on yes, but I always love a good emotional connection, y’know?”  
He blinks. “I don’t know, dude, I’m sixteen. Here’s the washroom.” He opens the door with the key on his lanyard and opens it.  
“Thanks.” His cheeks warm at his earlier ramble.  
“Whatever.” The teen leaves Stiles to his own devices.  
He uses the washroom fairly quickly, noting the cheap toilet paper and the dryness his hands felt at the use of the soap. He leaves his nitpicking inside his mind. It’s better than a cell.  
His hesitation in the hallway is brief as he remembers the direction he came from, but the walk is short lived. A hand wraps around his mouth to stifle his gasp and another arm quickly pulls his waist and arms back, a familiar sturdiness that pushes any panic he had far down.  
“I need you to go home.” He rasps.  
It’s words he didn’t want to hear, especially after travelling so far, but he doesn’t offer a response. He couldn’t, given the digits overlapping his lips. He tries to turn his head, to see him, to know he’s really there, but James holds his head facing forward.  
They stand there for a moment, just breathing, pressed against each other.  
He isn’t afraid, despite the anticipation rising within him.  
“Who did you come with?” He asks, voice much more calm. He lifts his hand off of Stiles’ throat and moves it to his jaw, gripping it not tight enough to mark, but rather just to ensure it stays still.  
“Her name is Jemma.” He says gently. “She’s a biochemist with SHIELD.”  
He feels James tense behind him.  
“We’re alone.” He says firmly. “I wanted to come by myself, James, I did, but they weren’t sure how I’d—”  
“I’m glad you’re safe.” He interrupts. “You… it’s good.”  
“Huh?” He’s momentarily surprised.  
“I shouldn’t have done this.” He feels James’ grip loosening on his torso, but he makes no move to turn around. He isn’t sure if his feet would move, even if he willed them to. “Who’s they?”  
“What?”  
“You said they weren’t sure.”  
“SHIELD.” He answers. “I’m inhuman, James, like you.”  
“Fuck.” He lets go of Stiles completely, backing away. “Fuck!”  
Stiles feels his touch leave like a ghost passing his body—a sudden loss of warmth and a surge of anxiety. He reaches his hand up to his shoulders, barely brushing the skin of the soldier before it was gone.  
“Don’t leave.” He begs, too desperate to retain his pride. “Not again. I’m sorry for what I said the last time. I didn’t mean to push you away. You’re not ready, I understand, but don’t, don’t…”  
He hiccups through the tears, turning around and facing the empty hallway.  
He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there before the teenage employee comes back, finding him staring at the end of the hall with tears staining his cheeks and a tremor in the hand that touched James.  
“Um, your tea is cold. Do you want another, or?”  
“Toss it.” He replies briskly, taking a deep breath. He shoves past and finds Jemma already standing, holding his hoodie in one hand and her travel cup in the other.  
“Oh, love.” Her face drops when she spots him. “What happened?”  
“James was here.” He chokes on his words. “He, um, he left.”  
“Did he say anything?” She scans his face, wincing at the despair clouding it.  
Stiles’ chest feels like it’s a cage, like his organs an expanding balloon and his ribcage is holding them still. He’s waiting for something—for the balloon to pop, for James to come back, for his abilities to make some fucking sense, for Scott to apologize, for the desire to be around his old friends to come back—the things he knows he _should_ want, things he doesn’t even understand.  
He’s waiting to feel like himself again, and pressed against James, for a moment, he did.  
And he doesn’t know if he recognizes himself without the grounding he provides.  
“He told me to go home.” He shrugs, trying to appear less broken. “Quite frankly, after today, I’m ready.”  
“Okay…” She trails off. “I’ll call Steve, okay? They can come pick us up.”

 

He wakes up to voices, covered in a thick blanket on a couch on the plane. He doesn’t remember dozing off, but he sinks further into the comfort.  
“I thought that they would have been there for days before finding anything, if at all.” He hears Steve mumble to someone. “He just showed up in the employee’s room of a restaurant?”  
Stiles makes no motion to announce his awakening.  
“There’s a back door.” Skye interjects. Stiles hears her typing. “I’m pulling up security footage from the parking lot it backs onto now.”  
“Oh, Buck.” Steve sighs sympathetically at whatever image Skye pulls up.  
“Let me see if I can get something from the hallway.” She mumbles, followed by more typing. “Here. It’s from the front, so we can see their faces.”  
“Is there sound?” Jemma speaks up.  
“No.” Skye replies.  
Stiles is thankful.  
Jemma swallows. “Is Agent Barnes…”  
“Crying?” Skye huffs. “Yeah, he is.”  
“Why would he be doing that?” Phil asks, making himself known to Stiles.  
“Because he loves him.” Steve grunts.  
Stiles hears shuffling and heavy footsteps, followed by the sound of a door clicking open and closed.  
He ignores the weight in his chest and sinks deeper into the couch, willing sleep to take him once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! Let me know all of your feelings on it. I love reading it.
> 
> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles can't help but fall into his melancholia, leading to an implosive conversation with Scott and a few confessions with Steve.

The journey back to his home felt entirely unfamiliar to Stiles. He’s embarrassed by the trip, having returned without James.

He’s not sure what he expected to come from the journey. Logically, he knew that the likelihood of James being emotionally prepared to face not only Stiles, but also eventually Steve, was slim to none. Emotionally, he expected something more.  
He couldn’t let go of the ego inside of him that had hoped that he would be enough to thaw the longstanding trauma James had faced.

Stiles knows his friends don’t expect that much of him ( _as good friends do_ , the voice inside his head reminds him), so he can’t give a reason why he had allowed himself to expect it from James. Either way, the disappointment lingers inside of his bones like deadweight. 

He’s outside again, laying on the grass in his backyard and silently watching clouds pass. 

Leo settles beside him. It’s silent for a minute.

“You don’t have to pretend to be not shaken up.” He says casually.

Stiles scrunches his nose, mumbling a response. “M’fine.”

“Are you getting hungry?”

“No.” He replies, voice monotone. 

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Leo replies gently. “It’s almost half past five, now.”

“Not feeling well.” His voice is breathy.

“You know something your dad pointed out to me,” Leo begins, waiting for Stiles to acknowledge him with an eyebrow quirk before continuing, “You don’t like talking about it.”

“About what?” He tries to avoid sounding snappy, but the question came out blunt nonetheless. 

“About things that hurt you. Losing your mom. Losing memories you had with people you love. 

“I don’t even know if I love them.” He frowns. “Derek… he makes me feel safe. He knows more than I do. It’s a respect thing. Lydia and Scott, though? They’re ahead of me in power but we’ve always been on even playing field. We were teammates. It felt equal. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Are they ahead of you?” Leo asks openly. It doesn’t sound like the question is directed at Stiles, but rather left to hang in the air. “Or are you ahead of them?”

Stiles thinks.

“I’m ahead of them.” He decides, chest aching. He closes his eyes. “I hate it.”

 

 

 

Stiles goes to Scott, because he has come to the conclusion that he has spent way too much time thinking about him.

“You heard me.” He says as soon as the door swings open.

“What?” Scott stares at him, confused.

“Last time, when I said I hurt people, you said _what? I couldn’t hear you._ But you’re a werewolf, so you heard me.” Stiles reiterates. “You heard me, you just didn’t _listen_.”

“I was hoping I misheard.” He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Do they need to?” He crosses his arms.

“No…” Scott trails off. “I heard what happened.”

“What do you mean?

“I heard from Derek that you were trying to track down a HYDRA agent. I asked him why, but he wouldn’t tell me. Lydia wouldn’t either.” He admits. “I was… worried.”

Stiles blinks. “Why?”

“Do you want to come in?” Scott opens the door a bit wider, but Stiles doesn’t make a motion to enter. “Or not, I guess.”

“Why were you worried?” He repeats.

“Do you really need me to explain it?” Scott shakes his head. “I lost you, Stiles. I didn’t want to lose you again.”

“You got me back, though.” Stiles struggles to get the sentence out of his mouth.

Scott stares at him for a moment. “Did I?”

The reaction is physical. He steps back.

“Did I get _you_ back?” Stiles finds the abandonment imbedded into his skin and he pulls it out. “You stopped visiting after I sent you away the first time! You stopped trying, caring, _looking_ , even when I was right there!”

Scott shakes his head. “You didn’t seem to want us around much once you found Leo and everyone else. Lydia had to track you down herself.”

“Leo, my _caretaker_?” He scoffs. “Sure, I replaced you guys with someone who I had to pay to even want to be around me for the first two and a half weeks. There wasn’t much competition knocking at my door, Scott.”

Scott opens his mouth to interrupt, but Stiles doesn’t give him the time.

“Do you remember how you treated me when you turned and found Allison?” He pushes the door open for immediate reconciliation closed. 

“That’s not fair to bring her up.” Scott’s voice lowers into a growl.

“Why not, Scott? Because you still blame me for her death?” He shrugs, raising his voice. “Because after finding myself with Erica and Boyd, bloodied in a basement, I realized they expected me to work as bait for you? Do you know what I told that maniac? _Do you?_ ”

Scott blinks, staring at the boy on his porch with glassy eyes. “What?”

“I told him you would find me. With confidence, too. That there’s no way you wouldn’t sniff me out.” He shrugs. “And then he beat the shit out of me and let me go, I lied to my dad, and everything went back to normal. Stiles helping save the day. Stiles supporting his buddy Scott after his breakup with the love of his life, even though he was just _kidnapped_ and saw two of his best friends for the last time, and really could have used some support. Even after I survived _possession_ , you never supported me the way I did when you buggered off to reinvent yourself as the cool kid, did you?”

“I’m sorry.” He replies weakly.

“It’s not fair that you told me last time that you thought you should have done more to try and find me.” He spits the words. “It’s not fair that I expected this kidnapping to be no different from when Peter, Chris, or Gerard took me away from the main crowd for their own personal questions. It’s not fair that I _know_ I am so fucking strong with this stuff, but as soon as I’m _not_ , I can’t depend on you to be there. I remember that now.”

“I didn’t realize—” 

“You don’t _pay attention!_ ” He shouts before coming back down to reality. He looks to his left and sees Scott’s mother, Melissa, standing on the sidewalk of Scott’s laneway with wide eyes. He shrinks into himself. “I have to go.”

“Stiles, please—”

“I have to go.” He repeats, and then he’s walking past Melissa and towards his house.

He hears Melissa telling her son to go inside, but he doesn’t turn around to watch.

 

 

 

The opened window lets a breeze come forward before it clicks shut again.

The bed dips beside him. 

“Shh.” A deep voice whispers, lifting the covers and crawling behind Stiles, pressing their bodies together. “Sleep now.”

He can’t help the tear from falling, nor the sniffle that follows.

A metal hand wipes away the liquid.

He doesn’t risk speaking for fear of the moment evaporating, so he merely takes a deep breath and relaxes into the comfort of the warm body pressed against his.

When he wakes up, his bed is empty and his window is closed. The only indication that the previous night wasn’t a dream is the indentation beside him on his mattress. He runs a hand across the grooves absentmindedly before allowing himself to drift back to sleep.

 

 

 

“The security system was alerted last night.” Leo says once Stiles’ mouth is full of cereal. “Have somebody over?”

“Is that why you’re letting me have Lucky Charms now?” He sighs, shoving the bowl away from him. “Bribery?”

Leo pushes the bowl back in front of Stiles. “No, that’s just to get you to eat. Am I right, though?”

“We just slept.” He rolls his eyes. “He was gone before I woke up.”

“Is this the part where I ask how that makes you feel?” 

Stiles glares up from his cereal to glare only to see the smile playing on Leo’s lips. “You’re teasing me.” The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

“Yeah, I am.” Leo laughs. “Do you want to pretend I don’t know about your inflammatory meeting with Scott or Barnes crawling through your window or do you want to talk about it?”

“Are you going to tell Steve?” He winces. 

“He is technically managing this case, so I should.” He quirks a brow. “Do _you_ want to?”

“I don’t know what he’s feeling. Would I be doing more harm than good?” He mumbles.

The tone in Steve’s voice when he acknowledged James’ affections for Stiles sounded like it burdened the man. 

Leo shrugs. “It depends how involved you want him in your life.

 

 

 

Being in Beacon Hills is becoming suffocating for Stiles. Before HYDRA took him away, it was his safe haven—something to hold onto and protect. Now, Stiles doesn’t think about supernatural incidents affecting his town. He doesn’t think about much outside of that which immediately affects him.

A small part of him wants to laugh at the fact that he’s becoming just as oblivious to the ongoings in Beacon Hills as the people he resented in high school were; however, there’s another part he can’t shake that worries.

He doesn’t act on this anxiety.

Instead, when he sees case files piling up on his dad’s desk, he walks past them, and if he notices Derek’s Camaro parked across the street from his house, or his dad getting in the passenger seat as they head towards the loft, he does nothing about it.

He wants to, though.

 

 

 

Steve looks surprised to see Stiles sitting on the floor outside of his bedroom door on the plane, but he doesn’t look upset, so Stiles counts it as progress.

Rather than inviting Stiles inside to talk, he sits down across from him, pulling his knees as close to his chest as his thigh muscles would allow and resting his elbows on top of them.

He looks soft under the simulated natural lighting coming from above. His blonde hair isn’t kept, casting a light shadow on his eyes. The navy shirt he’s wearing brings out the blue in them.

He has a hint of a smile forming on pink lips, and Stiles doesn’t want to look away.

“Hi.” He nudges one foot forward to lightly kick Stiles’ shoe.

Stiles huffs out a laugh. “Hey, Steve.”

“Your face has healed completely from the treadmill incident.” He muses. “I almost forgot what it looked like without a red patch.”

“Disappointed?” Stiles cocks his head to the side teasingly.

He looks at Stiles for a moment, passing his gaze over him shamelessly. “Not in the slightest.” 

Stiles falters in his playful mood, remembering what he came to say.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, recognizing the shift in atmosphere.

“I like you.” He clenches his mouth shut as soon as the words vocalize.

It isn’t what he meant to come out of his mouth.

“I like you, too.” Steve blinks, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you alright?”

Stiles frowns. “I like James.”

“Me too, Stiles.” Steve nods. “Again, are you alright? This is all stuff I’ve known. You seem frustrated.”

“James likes _you_.” He waves a hand in the air like it was explanation enough.

Steve nods once again. “And?”

“It’s a love triangle.” Stiles sighs dejectedly.

“Is it?” Steve laughs. “I’ve spent a lot of time on the internet since I discovered it. I know about people who are in relationships with more than one person.”

He can’t handle this information at the moment.

“James knows where I live.” He blurts.

Steve’s face becomes more serious. “How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know he knows where you live?”

Stiles winces. 

Steve presses. “Stiles.”

“He spent the night yesterday.” He lowers his volume, sounding like a scolded child admitting defeat.

“Are you safe at home?” Steve asks gently.

“James would never hurt me.” He straightens his back, ready to be on defence.

Steve pauses, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I meant, if Buck could get in, did he get in because he’s a _super spy_ , or because you have insufficient security?”

Stiles stares at him blankly. “Um, my dad is the Sheriff.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “And yet you still managed to get kidnapped.”

As soon as the words escape his lips, Steve freezes, preparing to backtrack. He doesn’t expect Stiles to lean his head back and let out a laugh that sounds so free his heart starts racing. Stiles remains oblivious to the softening of the soldier’s posture and the grin on his face as he turns his face to the floor with embarrassment.

“Sorry.” He lets out another chuckle. “That was loud.”

“I liked it.” Steve lets himself smile wide, knowing the flush of colour on Stiles’ cheeks that it would gain in response would be worth it.

“C’mon.” He stands up, holding out a hand for Stiles to use as momentum to follow suit. He doesn’t let go of his hand once they’re both standing, pulling him towards the living space that opens at the end of his bedroom hallway. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Oh.” Stiles rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I don’t know, I don’t feel—”

“We have some lasagna leftover that Sky and I made yesterday.” He smiles softly, and Stiles doesn’t want to tell him no to anything in that moment. “Do you want me to just pop it in the oven to reheat?”

The knot in his stomach unravels into butterflies. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment on your way out! Thanks for reading :) I appreciate it.
> 
> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles spends the night on the plane. He speaks Russian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the update in just before the one year mark hit since I last updated. Thank you for being so patient with me on this story and for all your questions about whether or not it was abandoned. 
> 
> I'm done my first year of university now! I'm hoping this summer I will be able to work more for you. I hope you all are doing well.
> 
> I would recommend re-reading the previous chapters if you are lost (I had to!!!). Again, I appreciate you sticking around. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

“Hey, dad?” He paces on the floor of the gym. “I’m staying at a friend’s house tonight.”

“A house or a jet?” The Sheriff muses, his tone innocent.

Stiles winces, tightening his grip on his phone. “Leo told you?”

“It’s not like you’ve been telling me a whole lot.” Before Stiles can interject, he continues, “I know it’s been a difficult transition, son. I wish I was home more. I’m glad you have people you can talk to about all this stuff because I know I haven’t exactly, you know, been there enough.”

“No, no.” He says softly. “I know how much your job means to you, and it means a lot to me, too. You help people.”

The Sheriff, more than anything, tries his best. Stiles knows this. 

“Helping you is always more important.” He sighs. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

He glances at Steve. The man is wrapping his hands to prepare for sparring, a soft look contrasting his sharp features. Stiles finds himself smiling fondly.

“I’m not sure yet,” He takes a deep breath, “Is that okay?

“Okay, but if we don’t see each other, I want you to call me again. Got it?” He compromises. 

Stiles smiles, “Of course, dad. Love you.”

“I love you too, kid.”

He ends the call on his cellphone, setting it down on a bench nearby and jogging to regroup with Steve. Stiles’ hands are already wrapped. He enters the clearing of floor mats with a playful smile tugging on his lips. 

“Ready?” Steve returns the grin with one of his own, shifting his weight on the pads of his feet. 

Stiles swings in response, laughing when Steve guffaws in surprise.

 

 

 

They lie next to one another, breathing heavily. The floor mats beneath them smell fresh of plastic, rather than sweat like the ones Stiles remembers from high school. 

“You’re not supposed to lie down after doing a lot of physical activity, I think,” Stiles comments offhandedly between breaths. “I read that somewhere, once.”

Steve chuckles. “Rules like that are hard to apply to people who aren’t completely human.”

“What, we have crazy stamina?”Stiles smiles cheekily, rolling onto his stomach and propping his torso up with his elbows so that he can look over at Steve.

The superhero looks infuriatingly normal, laughing at Stiles’ comment as sweat drips down his forehead, laying on the blue mat in a drenched white tee. Stiles can’t help having his breath catch in his throat at the sight.

“You’re unfair.” He whispers, almost afraid of popping the bubble their moment is encapsulated inside. 

“How is that?” Steve has a gentle smile on his face, chest rising and falling quickly as he comes down from the high of exercising. 

Stiles suddenly feels insecure at their proximity. There’s less than another person’s width between them. His face falls from the lightness of their previous activities. “Sorry, I—”

Steve twists off his back and sits on his knees for a moment, causing Stiles to freeze. Quickly following, he moves. He grabs Stiles by his right shoulder and pulls it backward, causing the younger man's arms to give way and force him to lie on his back. He can hear the sharp intake of breath follow the light thud as he lands on the mat.  
Stiles’ words are no longer important to him as he stares at the man above him who moves to straddle his waist, running one hand down his arm until he reaches his fingers, intertwining them with his. With his other hand, he gently lifts Stiles’ chin from looking at their hands to make direct eye contact.

“I need to know if I’m reading this wrong.” Steve’s voice is low and controlled, and Stiles knows that he would stop if he was told to, but it’s the last thing he is thinking of. 

In response, Stiles untangles his one hand and cups Steve’s face with both hands, pulling it towards his with messy determination.

Their lips meet with the buildup of _want_. He gasps into the kiss as Steve grinds down onto his waiting body, which responds eagerly. 

Stiles whines when he pulls away, earning him a huff of laughter against his face.

“God, you’re a brat.” Steve mumbles, running his nose down Stiles’ neck, leaving a trail of kisses as he goes down.

“I am no—oh, oh my god.” He gasps as Steve sucks down on the junction between his neck and shoulder. 

“My favourite brat.” Steve grins up at him, running his hands down Stiles’ chest until he reaches the bottom of his shirt.

“Not fair that we are wearing clothes, nope.” Stiles huffs, clawing at the offending fabric clinging to Steve’s chest. In one movement, Steve lifts it over his head and tosses it to the side, looking down at Stiles with such an intensity that Stiles pauses to stare, transfixed. He pulls out of his daze when he notices the fabric of his shirt rising above his head as Steve tugged on it.

Stiles reaches for Steve’s waistband, but Steve intercepts it by pinning his hand to the floor. “Someone could walk in.” He mumbles, kissing his sternum gently. “At any moment.”

“JARVIS,” Stiles rasps, “Lock the fucking doors.”

_Understood, Mr. Stilinski._

Stiles quirks an eyebrow at Steve, who only laughs in response. He shrugs. “Can’t argue with that, I guess.” Then he pulls Stiles’ shorts down, taking his athletic underwear with him. 

The sudden coolness of his nudity causes him to inhale sharply, gasping out Steve’s name.

A hand wraps around his dick, which is well on its way to being rock hard, and Steve grins down at the boy beneath him. “This okay?”

“Yes, yes. Fuck, more than okay. Just peachy.” He rambles, using his free hand to pull Steve into a kiss. The other hand is still held down to the mat by Steve’s. 

Stiles has a moment of panic when he thinks about how long it has been since he’s had any action below the belt—not from another person, as he remains a virgin, but from _himself_. Steve’s hand on his dick is overwhelming, new, and hot all at once.

He’s flushed, panting into Steve’s lips as they continue to kiss, both attempting to be closer to the other. Steve wraps a hand around both of them and grinds obscenely. 

Stiles presses a hand upwards against Steve’s chest and bats it weakly, gasping, “I’m going to come embarrassingly fast.”

Steve doesn’t back down, “I want to see your face when you do. You’re so good for me, aren’t you? You were waiting for this.”

Stiles can’t concentrate on his words, babbling incoherently, “Yes, wanted you so bad, Steve! Oh my god,” He can’t stop his hips from bucking up into the sensation. “Oh my god.”

For a moment he thinks about how normal it is, frottage with a gorgeous man who’s guiding him through the exploration of his own body. There’s almost nothing in his brain as he cums, just the image of Steve looking down at him with his lips curled upwards, still holding his hand. 

He shouts as Steve continues grinding on him until he finishes soon after. He momentarily feels like he’s floating, only bound to earth by Steve’s body hovering over, grounding him.

He feels the wetness on his chest spilling off his skin and onto the mats and laughs at the absurdity of it all, “I’m glad we did that.”

“Me too,” Steve kisses him again, wiping the majority of their cum off with his discarded shorts, “There’s a shower in this area if you’re interested.” 

He’s tracing the beginning of a hickey forming on Stiles’ neck with a faint smile when the younger man nods.

 

 

 

Stiles hovers as they get ready for bed, his breath seemingly held indefinitely, waiting for the right moment to ask something. He isn’t sure of what.

He’s leaning against the doorframe of Steve’s ensuite bathroom, watching the man as he washes his face. The clothes he borrowed fit, but they droop on his frame, filled out with less muscle than their usual owner.

Steve is drying his face with a towel when he pauses, quirking an eyebrow towards the teenager, whose face reddens in response. 

“What?” Steve huffs a laugh, “Do you want to say something?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles mumbles, looking at his feet, “I feel stupid now.”

“No, come on,” Steve moves forward until their foreheads are pressed against each other, “I didn’t mean to tease you. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me.”

“I do,” Stiles looks at the ceiling and scrunches his nose, avoiding eye contact, “I’m just nervous. I don’t want you or James to find a good thing and leave. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Steve sighs, and Stiles can’t seem to stop the wetness from building behind his eyes. 

“This _is_ a good thing, Stiles.” He steps back and Stiles’ eyes find his, “Bucky and I don’t agree on many things these days. You, though,” He holds out a hand, “We seem to be on the same page there.”

“Okay,” Stiles says gingerly, sniffling and accepting his open palm with his own. 

“Okay,” Steve repeats, soft but firm, “Bed?”

Stiles nods. 

He has a brief moment where he feels a pit of dread in his stomach at the possibility of James not being able to find him tonight, but looking at Steve, he knows he can’t wait for the two men to be on the same page.

Wrapped up in his arms, he can’t feel guilty. 

 

 

 

Stiles doesn’t feel vulnerable in the jet. JARVIS guides him through the labyrinth of rooms with gentle verbal directions and lighting cues. He is surrounded by inhumans, so the pressure to act _right_ is not only alleviated but gone entirely. 

It helps that the people have welcomed him with open arms. 

Jemma stayed true to her word and with some noninvasive samples and testing, she thinks she has an understanding of his abilities. 

She has various charts spread on the floating screen above her, moving and gesturing to certain parts. Fitz nods intently at the information while Stiles furrows his eyebrows, face unreadable. 

Steve, Daisy, and Coulson all seem equally unimpressed with what is being said. 

“So is it the super serum or not?” Skye interrupts, raising her hands when the two scientists turn to look at her incredulously, “What? Stiles didn’t get it either!”

“I… kind of get it,” He shrugs, “I’m a science person, but I’d still appreciate a simple version.”

“I would too,” Coulson interjects, “No offense, but I think I’d like to be aware of what we’re dealing with, especially in case this happens again.”

“The version of the super serum they administered to you is very similar to that which James and Bucky received, but not necessarily. There are a few key differences,” Jemma points to a screen that shows white blood cells, “Agent Barnes and Steve possess more regenerative and healing abilities than you do. They’re more durable in a fight.”

“That would be why the scrape on your face healed like normal,” Leo interjects, “Meanwhile, you’re stronger than Steve on a base level, much like Barnes. He was experimented on beyond the initial serum, as were you.”

“Barnes, though,” Jemma pauses like she’s unsure of how to phrase it, “He had invasive experimentation with his mental state, especially his memory. With you, that was largely psychological.”

“He’s still in full control of his mind, then,” Skye nods, moving towards the screen and pulling the brain scan to the front, “They didn’t want to brainwash him because he was obedient enough.”

“Hey,” Stiles snaps, “I ran through the scenarios in my head. I’ll go with a plan that has a fifty percent chance, but I was working with crumbs. It wasn’t worth the consequences if I failed.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” She shakes her head, “I meant it as a good thing. You protected your brain.”

Jemma ignores the side conversation in favour of Stiles’ agility stats, “You seem to have similar powers to the five winter soldiers that were killed by Zemo. With the right training…” 

“You weren’t scratching the surface in your training if you were just keeping up with Steve.” Leo nods, “If you are conditioned with muscle memory, you could easily outmaneuver a soldier like Barnes, hell, probably Thor given the right circumstances.”

“Thor?” Steve blinks, shocked.

“Not to mention the socialization that a HYDRA soldier receives,” Jemma adds like it’s something casual, “Stiles could probably blend into a number of places as a native citizen. Did they teach you languages?”

Stiles frowns, “I don’t remember.”

“Вы говорите по-русски?” Coulson asks, and Stiles freezes. _Do you speak Russian?_

He can feel his lips moving as his hands cover his ears, eyes closed.

Steve’s voice is close, soft, “Stiles, can you hear me? You’re safe.”

“Не перебива́й меня́,” He drops to the floor. _Don’t interrupt me._ “Стой!” _Stop!_

It’s silent, then. 

He continues to cover his ears, only hearing the sound of his own short breaths and whimpers. 

 

 

 

When he wakes up, he’s being shaken awake in a bed. Steve has a phone in one hand and a look of concern on his face.

It’s Steve’s bed. Some of his shame is alleviated.

“Stiles, your dad asked you to call him if you didn’t come home,” Steve says gently.

“Shit,” He mumbles sleepily, “What time is it?”

“Just after seven o’clock,” He holds out the cell phone, “It’s on mute right now. If you can’t talk right now that’s okay. I was going to let you sleep but he asked that I check. He knows you’re here now.”

Stiles nods and reaches for the phone, hitting the mute button to speak. 

“Hi, dad,” His voice cracks from sleep and he’s grateful for Steve’s presence as he sits on the side of the bed, “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“I heard something happened,” The older Stilinski is speaking like he did when Stiles’ mom first died and Stiles’ heart clenches, “Are you alright?”

“I will be,” He mumbles, reaching out a hand and intertwining his fingers with Steve’s, “I had an episode when someone spoke Russian to me. I just remembered how to speak it, then I remembered when I had used it before, and I don’t know. I’m in bed now, so I guess I passed out. I don’t know.” He ends awkwardly.

“You don’t have to know, kiddo.” John sighs, “I’m glad you’re resting.”

“I never liked horror movies, you know?” He squeezes Steve’s hand, who is sitting patiently, “And that sounds stupid, but that’s what it feels like. It doesn’t feel like I actually did the things I did sometimes, especially when I don’t remember without some kind of prompting that I can’t prepare for. I feel like I’m in some kind of haunted house, but I don’t know when I’ll get scared.” 

“You have people walking through this with you, Stiles, and we are more than happy to do so. We will figure it out, alright? We always do.” 

“Yeah,” He mumbles, “I think I’m going to sleep tonight, but I’ll come home tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” John sighs, “Tell Steve that so he can let me know if plans change. I love you.”

“Love you too, bye.” He hangs up when his father says goodbye in response and holds the phone out to Steve, “Did you hear that?”

He nods, accepting the device and setting it on the side table, “Do you want me to stay?”

Stiles scrunches his nose, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to go to bed. Only if you want to.”

Steve huffs a laugh and stands, discarding his jeans and tee shirt until he’s wearing nothing but boxer briefs, “Let’s go to bed. JARVIS, wake us up if we’re not up before nine.”

_Of course, sir._

“Goodnight, Steve,” Stiles says quietly.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Steve replies, and Stiles can feel the vibration of his voice against his back. He leans into it, relishing in its closeness, before succumbing to his fatigue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it worth the wait? Please let me down gently if not lol. I didn't proofread but I will tomorrow morning, I just wanted to get this out for you guys already. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I cannot explain to you all what your comments and support mean to me.
> 
> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve talks to John Stilinski, in person.

Stiles makes it back to his house without waking up in full. He resists Steve’s gentle prods to wake him up with sleepy whines, allowing himself to be manhandled into a new change of clothes. At some point, he manages to convince the older man that a piggy-back ride would be the most effective way to transport him back. Steve snorted at the suggestion before he turned and offered his back for Stiles to climb on.

It feels intimate, his nose sleepily pressed against Steve’s neck.

When they reach Stiles’ jeep, Steve opens up the passenger door and lets Stiles climb inside on his own before getting in the driver’s side. They’re already pulling into his laneway when Stiles realizes that Steve knew the directions without his help.

“Leo tell you where I live?” He mumbles, scrunching his brow in confusion.

“Everyone on that ship knows your home address, Stiles. But no, Leo didn’t tell me,” He pulls into the driveway and parks, “Your dad told me on the phone and asked that we join him for a meal today. So, breakfast.”

Stiles’ eyes widen, “We’ve never done a meet-the-parents thing. Does he even know?”

Stiles reaches a hand over and grabs Stiles’ hand, smiling sheepishly, “He said he knew as soon as I called him. I sounded a bit, uh, worried.”

“You like me,” Stiles grins cheekily, squeezing his hand. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, looking towards the front door, “Ready?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

If Sheriff Stilinski was not Stiles’ father, and he grew up with him as simply a figure of law enforcement, he probably would have been in less trouble growing up. He’s a good cop, caring and compassionate, but Stiles looked for what buttons to push as a child. He would have been scared by being pulled into his car or office if the officers weren’t his family, too.

Stiles learned to see the law as a guideline more than a set of rules and regulations with consequences. Authority figures, especially law enforcement, don’t scare him.

Steve looks nervous.

“Hey,” Stiles nudges his side as they stand in front of the front door, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I’ve never done a meet-the-parents thing, either.”

Stiles freezes, “Not even with, um…”

“Bucky had no parents by the time I meant anything to him,” He says softly, “And then my parents died. Bucky met my mom, but it wasn’t like that, you know? I don’t know if we would have said anything even if they were alive. I don’t know what they would have said. With any girls, I never met their parents either. It, uh, didn’t feel right. I want to do this right. ”

Stiles finds himself blinking quickly to avoid being overwhelmed by the emotional undertone, nodding quickly, “Let’s go then.”

He opens the door and hears his dad’s voice, “Stiles, Steve, that you?”

“Yeah, dad!” He calls, following his voice to the kitchen, where the table is set for four.

The counter has a buffet style display of bacon, eggs, sausage, and other breakfast foods that Stiles would normally cut out of his father’s healthy diet. Next to them, flipping a pancake by the stove in a purple apron, is Derek.

“Derek, hi,” He says, surprised, “Uh, you cook?”

“He has eyes,” He muses in response, “Sit down, I’ll bring it all to the table when it’s done.”

Steve makes a beeline for the Sheriff, who doesn’t stand to greet him. 

He holds out a hand, “Hi, sir, we talked on the phone. It’s nice to meet you.”

John shakes it, brief and strong, and nods, “After spending forty-eight hours with my son, you deserve a medal.”

Derek snorts, and Stiles guffaws while taking a seat, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Steve takes the place next to him and Derek begins bringing over plates of food, setting them on the centre of the table. He thanks him, helping to place them.

Once everyone is seated, Derek reaches out his hand for Steve to shake, “Hi, Steve, it’s nice to see you in person.”

Stiles chokes on a piece of food, “I forgot you talked to him on the phone! There is a full-blown conspiracy against me!”

Derek shrugs shamelessly, “I’ll always keep tabs on you as long as we’re friends.”

Stiles is sometimes awestruck by things Derek says and the lengths he would go for the people he loves. He vocalizes his love for others indirectly, sometimes unaware that his heart is on his sleeve until it’s pointed out to him. Even then, he doesn’t shy away from it. He isn’t afraid to say he would go to the ends of the world because he has, and he will. 

And if Stiles had asked him to leave him alone, to not keep tabs on him, he would. More than he loves Stiles, he respects him.

Stiles would never ask that of him, though, and he knows Derek would never ask it of him. They accepted being constants in each others lives a long time ago. 

Steve is the one who responds, but it’s to Stiles, “You’re lucky to have friends like that.”

Stiles smiles wide and kicks Derek under the table, earning himself a lighthearted glare, “Yeah, I know.”

“And what about you?” John nods to Steve, “You’ve got quite the set of friends. _Avengers_. That’s quite the name.”

“We have a complicated relationship, that’s for sure,” He laughs lightly, “They’re more than coworkers, more than friends, different than family. It’s it’s own category, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Derek nods slowly, like Steve said something banal, “Pack.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles pauses, laughing abruptly, “It’s totally pack. It’s the same concept, but you don’t have an Alpha.”

“If you really want to get into it, they’re all kind of Alpha’s,” Derek grumbles, “They each represent different interests and places. Their grouping is similar to a council of Alpha’s, but obviously not the same.”

“You’re on a council?” John asks, impressed.

“A couple, yeah.” He nods awkwardly, “It’s the Hale thing.”

“You’re a big deal in the werewolf community,” Steve acknowledges, “That’s why I called you earlier, for the most part. Everyone I talked to spoke very highly of your family’s contributions to the community, and your accomplishments in their own right.”

Derek visibly preens, even though he shakes his head, “My mother set a high standard.”

“So that makes two celebrities at my table.” John points a fork at Steve, “Who would be in your pack then, huh? If you were a hypothetical Alpha.”

“Um, I probably hang around Sam and Natasha the most, but in my profession, it’s hard to make friends with people who aren’t coworkers.” He replies thoughtfully, “I’ve had families of choice for the majority of my life.”

“Do you still talk to the cyborg who climbs into my son’s window at night?” He stares at Steve unapologetically.

“Dad,” Stiles hisses, “First of all, he’s not a cyborg, it’s just a fancy fucking prosthetic. Second, that’s way out of line.”

“Why?” He frowns, “You’re the one who told me he saved your life. I’m trying to understand.”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” He glances at Steve, whose face is relatively blank.

“No, it’s alright, I would be wondering the same thing,” He nods politely, although his eyebrows are furrowed, “Bucky will always be my best friend. He was family when I didn’t have one. He knows that if he sees me or anyone else directly related to SHIELD that we will be examining him again. I understand his reasoning for keeping a distance, even if I wish he didn’t feel the need for it.”

“You love him,” Derek says, quiet.

“We both do,” Stiles replies, frowning at his plate. He grabs Steve’s hand beside him, under the table but still obvious to the two men sitting across from them.

“Is this a new millennial thing?” John points between the two of them with his fork, “The three of you?”

Steve huffs a laugh, “It’s far from a new concept, but I understand that it’s still taboo.”

“Listen to me, then.” Any sense of playful familiarity is wiped from his face, “I understand families of choice. My father wasn’t worth the title. I understand the kind of man it takes to put yourself on the line for people who aren’t your blood. This guy was that for you, yes?”

Steve nods, unsure of how to respond verbally.

“Now, I was in the military for some time before I went to college and met Stiles’ mother. I know men who dealt with days that the _Winter Soldier_ would have considered a vacation and they didn’t come out without their own set of issues. That doesn’t mean those men are weak. It’s a testament to this guy’s strength. Whenever he’s ready to accept your help, I need you to be there,” He points at Steve, “I don’t know your damage, but you’re dealing with my son now. I need you to be present. You’ve got two men you love who need help. If you aren’t ready to be there for them, I need you to walk away before they rely on you. You owe them that. Do you understand me?”

Steve doesn’t let go of Stiles’ hand, who is holding his breath. 

“With all due respect, sir,” Steve begins, soft but firm, holding back the passion bubbling underneath his skin, “I will never be able to live a life that isn’t dedicated to Bucky. It’s more than just returning a childhood favour, more than my first love. We will always be even. Everything I do for him is because he’s my best friend and he didn’t deserve anything HYDRA did to him.”

He pauses, turning to look at Stiles and bringing his hand, still clasped together with his, up to his chest, “Everything he did to help your son was because he showed him that he had a chance to be himself again, and as he stuck around, he learned that he liked him. Everything I do for your son is because I feel the same way. I wouldn’t have let him in the way I did, to my life, to my heart, if I wasn’t prepared to protect him with everything I have. That includes it all, good, bad,” His eyes flicker back to the Sheriff briefly, “It’s rare that a person is in the same position as me, and I understand that our circumstances and our pasts are very different, but there’s a connection here I don’t need to justify to you. This isn’t short-term. I think we’re both well aware of that.”

John blinks quickly and turns to face Derek, and Stiles’ heart clenches when he notices his glassy eyes, “Oh, dad, I’ll cry if you cry. Don’t cry.”

Derek, who remained stoic throughout both speeches, nods at John, “He was telling the truth.”

“You were here as a lie detector?” Stiles manages to laugh through his emotion, pulling Steve’s hand into his lap and wiping a tear from his face with a free hand.

John waves a hand at Stiles dismissively, “I’m the Sheriff.”

“He _is_ Captain America,” Derek quirks an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t make him a good person,” John shakes his head, “But I’m glad the rumours were true. You’re a good man, Steve. I look forward to you being in our lives. And, for the record, that means family dinners as often as you can.”

Derek intervenes, “And if it becomes relevant, you have my word that my pack will come to your aid and my resources will be available to you.”

Steve smiles, and Stiles feels his stomach flutter at the sight, “Thank you, both of you. I think Leo is the one more interested in your resources than me. He’s driving himself insane over not having clearance to the werewolf files.”

Derek grins, “Yeah, it’s not a big number of people who are allowed to know things past the fact that we exist and our territory lines. He could always come out and visit, though, he’s an ally.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles laughs, “Can I actually invite him? He would have so many questions.”

“Like when you still thought silver bullets could kill us,” Derek grins, “The good old days, when my life was peaceful without you.”

“I make it interesting,” Stiles smiles wide, causing all three men to laugh. 

 

 

 

Stiles takes Steve up to his childhood bedroom. His bed is unmade from a few days prior and he scrambles to pick up some of his dirty clothes off the floor.

“I don’t mind the mess, Stiles,” Steve laughs, circling the area slowly with curiosity, “You have a lot of posters.”

“I like a lot of stuff,” He shrugs, sitting on the side of his bed and following his line of sight, “Band posters, crime scene boards, it’s all jumbled.”

He points to a picture, “Is this a movie character?”

It’s a sketch of a man without a mouth, one Stiles hasn’t thought about in years. 

“That’s an assassin,” He shifts awkwardly, “He killed a family of Wendigos, tried to kill Derek, but Derek’s uncle stopped him. That’s the police sketch.”

“He’s dead?” He turns to face Stiles, concerned.

“Oh, yeah, that was when I was a junior,” He nods, “Then we started senior year, I made it to around October, HYDRA happened, and now it’s what, July?”

Steve nods, looking at his desk and making his way towards it, “Have you looked at this stuff? You’ve got a Chemistry textbook here.”

“Not really,” He leans back on his elbows, watching Steve rummage through his things, “This room is a time capsule of what my life was right before the kidnapping. I haven’t touched my desk, really. It still has my homework from high school on it. My dad didn’t move anything either, really, because it was looked at by police while they were investigating.” 

Steve frowns, gathering some papers and stacking them on top of the books, “If you’re getting your GED, do you want to clean this space up?”

“I haven’t thought that far,” Stiles furrows his eyebrows, feeling defensive, “I planned on applying to the FBI Academy in Virginia, but I hadn’t decided if there was something in the scientific field that would help more back home.”

“You were planning your future around being able to help the supernatural community?” Steve turns to face him, his face earnest.

“Well, yeah,” He mumbles, “Now, I’m not sure.”

“You’ve carved quite the place for yourself here,” Steve says softly, walking over and sitting by his side on the bed. 

Stiles groans when Steve places a hand on his knee and flops onto his back, staring at the ceiling, “I don’t fit into that space anymore, not the same way. Sometimes it feels like people here expect me to pick up where we left off, like they don’t realize I was doing stuff during the months I was gone.”

“Derek doesn’t seem to have any expectations for you,” Steve comments.

“He’s a good friend,” Stiles mumbles, “He’s a good Alpha, he always was. You know I was talking about Scott.”

“Yes, but I also know talking about it makes you upset,” He says gently, “What do you say we go out today? Do something?”

Stiles looks down from the ceiling, locking eyes with the older man. He looks soft, donning a light grey hoodie and jeans. Stiles, dressed in one of Steve’s navy crewneck sweaters and his own jeans, is suddenly aware of how relaxed he is around him. 

He smiles, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

 

 

Stiles puts marshmallows in his ice cream. Steve is suspicious of all the toppings available, opting to leave his plain. 

Steve mentions off-handedly that he doesn’t remember the last time he ate ice cream. He laughs when he says it, but there’s a feeling of resentment towards his lifestyle behind it. Going out to eat ice cream feels trivial. 

Dating is something Stiles should have had time to do in high school. His relationship with Malia was too codependent and nervous for them to be what the other needed. The others were able to balance their life around scheduled pack meetings and stakeouts, while Stiles spent his spare time researching their monster of the week to make those preparations. 

When he tried to picture someone new fitting into his life, he saw deception and danger. He saw himself having time to figure it out in his first year of university. For a while, with HYDRA, he saw himself not being able to love someone with the same kind of freedom he could have beforehand. 

Now, though, he just sees Steve. His nose is scrunched up with Stiles’ spoon is in his mouth, trying his concoction of ice cream flavours with marshmallows. 

Stiles intertwines their legs together beneath the pink, plastic table between them and tries to contain his laughter as he speaks, “Do you like it?”

He shakes his head, returning to his own bowl, “No, but I like you, so it evens out, doesn’t it?”

Stiles can feel his cheeks reddening as he smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, one of you introduced this site ko-fi to me and it's kind of out of my comfort zone but some kind people expressed interest. I understand most of you are in the same position as me financially lol - starving artists, us lot. But ATTN that this is now in the end notes of my works: "If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen"
> 
> Please leave a comment on your way out.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


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